Broken Beyond Repair
by Nothing But Bones
Summary: Brennan is barely holding it together after a traumatic encounter with a serial killer; torn between allowing Booth to shoulder some of the burden and shutting him out completely. Will Booth's heartfelt confession make or break them? My first fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

Booth's kidneys ached as a rush of adrenaline assailed him. Within seconds of placing the receiver back in the cradle, he was sprinting out of his office, hands already beginning to tremble with a mixture of rage and apprehension. He fumbled ineffectually with the keys to his SUV, somehow mustering the foresight to switch on his siren before he floored the accelerator. His tyres screeched with the strain of his hasty departure, but he made no effort to slow down. Thankfully, the traffic milling around downtown DC gave him a wide berth. He pounded his fist against the horn to ward off anyone who was suicidal enough to stand in his way.

He pulled out his radio to call for back up, trying not to imagine what Bones might be enduring at the hands of their latest crackpot killer. When they had been called on to help excavate the remains of his most recent victim, Brennan's beautiful azure eyes had taken on that haunted look that never failed to make his gut wrench. This guy was brutal enough to make Howard Epps look like Florence Nightingale. The victims had been young, and female. Three of them had been unearthed to date, their bones telling excruciating tales of torture, rape and violence.

The heinous bastard, fuelled by feelings of his own inadequacy, had deliberately targeted girls and young women whose intelligence had been publicly commended; the high school valedictorian, the Harvard alumna, and the winner of a prestigious scholarship. Sweets had marked him out as an only child, a chronic underachiever who had probably experienced intense parental pressure to succeed. His family would have been excessively traditional in their roles – his father a domineering breadwinner, his mother a subservient housewife, and it was likely that he had witnessed extreme domestic violence from an early age.

Sweets explained that they were looking for a male – most likely in his late twenties - who had been taught from the outset that women were lesser mortals, domestic servants who were there to cater to his every whim. But then Mummy's Boy was forced to fly the nest and contend with the harsh reality of the real world, where things weren't structured quite the way he was anticipating. His relationships invariably failed when he realised that his girlfriends were capable of giving as good as they got. He was living in a place where his archaic views were mocked and his advances scorned, and he couldn't even regain his standing in the workplace. According to Sweets, this was the type of guy who was aghast to discover that his female colleagues were being considered alongside him for that coveted promotion, and outraged when they won the contest. So he preyed upon confident and clever young women, killing them before they could reach their potential, demeaning them the most effective way he knew how. By raping them.

Booth let out a tortured cry. Bones had only been missing for three hours, but he knew this bastard could maim and mutilate his victims in a tenth of that time. He thought about the contempt the inadequate asshole would be feeling towards his esteemed partner, and whether she was feeding his rage by refusing to acquiesce to his demands. Their perp was a repeat offender, who obviously knew the FBI was on his trail, but he would still want to toy with Bones before putting her out of her misery. To have her at his mercy would be a dream come true.

Booth heaved an angst-ridden sigh. There were plenty of people with a Doctorate, but no one deserved the title more so than Temperance Brennan. As far as he was concerned, she was a genius of Einstein-esque proportions. Sweet's propensity for profiling perpetrators frankly paled in comparison to Bones' ability to deduce the cold, hard facts from meagre nuggets of information. Still, that didn't mean she would have the foresight to do what was needed to stay alive. She could fight back, that he knew, but she had also determined that the killer was a weighty guy, with the strength to crush his victims like rag dolls. He wondered whether she would know how to handle him, to realise that her stoic resolve and condescending cockiness would only serve to incense him further. She had earned the right to be proud of herself, but he prayed that he had taught her the instincts needed to survive.

He thought back to the horrific scene that had greeted him when he had last saved Brennan's life, how her tear-stained face and evident terror had caused him almost as much pain as his extensive injuries. How, in the aftermath, she had wrapped her arms around him and sobbed against his shoulder, momentarily heedless of his cracked ribs, or the presence of Hodgins lingering uncomfortably in the background, shifting nervously as he watched his infallible boss break down. Booth hadn't cared about the pain then. In fact, it had been completely obliterated by the heady sensation of being so close to her, when only seconds before he had been faced with the bleak reality of losing her forever. That moment had, in actuality, been fleeting. Brennan was always quick to regain her composure, being so wary of losing it in the first place. But that didn't change the fact that it was burned into his subconscious forever.

Booth clutched the steering wheel tightly, swallowing the lump in his throat. It was too soon to admit defeat. He inwardly willed Cullen to wait for his arrival before embarking on the rescue operation. Under any other circumstances, he would have had the utmost faith in his fellow agents, but he cringed at the thought of one of his colleagues fumbling to free Brennan, laying their hands on her when she was at her most vulnerable, relaying their rehearsed words of reassurance, which would undoubtedly fall on deaf ears. She needed him. He was the only one, besides Angela, who had ever been able to get through to her. Underneath all the banter and bravado, he had done everything humanly possible to convey that he would never leave her. He remembered her asking, only recently, whether he was capable of betraying her. They were both slightly tipsy, and she had delivered the question partly in jest, but he knew his definitive "no" had resonated with her, somewhere.

Booth fought back tears as he considered how desperately hard he tried not to let Bones down. He followed her around like a lost puppy, turning up where he wasn't needed or wanted, sleeping on her couch to ensure she made it safely through the night. She had even learnt to tolerate the protective hand that he instinctively laid against the small of her back whenever they went out together. The gesture was almost automatic, even when they were ambling along next to each other in perfect synchronicity; he had to reach out, just to reassure himself that she was still there. And yet the bitter irony of it all was that, despite attempting to spend every waking hour with her, he was never there when she truly needed him. He still led awake at night thinking about the horrors of New Orleans, of seeing her in that hospital gown, covered in bruises and faint traces of her own blood. He continued to have nightmares about her being engulfed in scorching hot sand, his face contorted with the effort of pulling her free, only to find her limp and lifeless in his arms. And then there was the whole Kenton fiasco. He didn't know if he would ever truly forgive himself for placing her in the care of a would-be murderer.

And now there was another bad guy on the scene. Possibly the worst they'd had the misfortune to encounter. It hadn't even crossed his mind to warn Bones against getting too involved; he knew it would be a futile gesture. When he saw her this morning, she had been confined to the laboratory for over twenty-four hours, trying to find answers the best way she knew how. She was dozing at her desk when he brought her a cup of coffee, and he hadn't been able to resist brushing an errant strand of hair away from her face. The gesture was delivered with infinite tenderness, but it was still enough to wake her, and she had blinked up at him whilst he tried to conceal his embarrassment at being caught out. He made a flippant remark about how he had been preserving her dignity by wiping the drool off her chin, and she narrowed sleepy eyes at him, before breaking into an indulgent grin. That was enough acknowledgement to get him through the morning, and he had left to chase up another futile lead, unaware of the soft smile that had remained plastered to his features for quite some time afterwards.

A few hours later, Temperance Brennan and her team of squints made a major breakthrough. She called Booth on his cell phone, sounding jubilant, and asked him to meet her for a working lunch at his office. She nipped into the diner to ask Sid to prepare her two meals to go.

And then she disappeared.

It was Hodgins, as always, who had tracked down her likely location – Booth still didn't understand how he did it, but the bugs and slime guy had pulled the proverbial rabbit out of the hat. Again. Now he was heading towards an abandoned shack, and he made a mental note to pay kudos to the rare species of tree that had led Hodgins to pinpoint the wooded area surrounding it. He could see nothing but countryside sprawling for miles around him. It was completely isolated. A place where no one could hear you scream.

Booth killed his lights and slowed down drastically as he began his approach, noting the positions of the other agents who were poised to begin the operation at a moment's notice. They had reached the scene only minutes before Booth himself, but Cullen had clearly been awaiting his arrival. He just hoped those few minutes wouldn't affect the outcome of the rescue, or else he would never be able to live with himself.

He exited his vehicle, closing the door with barely a sound, and gave his colleagues a curt nod, receiving several in return. He tried not to notice the looks of barely veiled sympathy, and instead motioned them into their respective positions.

They were ready to roll.


	2. Chapter 2

Billy Marks hadn't banked on her fighting back. He'd grabbed her when she was walking past a deserted alley, and the shock of the attack had given him the advantage. The chloroform had knocked her out, and he hadn't had much trouble loading her into the trunk of his car. She was tall, but slight, and he thought carrying her over his shoulder into the warehouse would be a painless process. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't banked on her regaining consciousness for at least another hour, so it was his turn to be taken by surprise when he was subjected to an onslaught of well-placed kicks. He flung her to the floor in disgust, and she was visibly winded, but nevertheless wasted no time in jumping to her feet and sprinting in the opposite direction. She was fast, but her shoes weren't designed for running and his legs were considerably longer. He took her down with a brutal rugby tackle, and she fought like a wildcat in an effort to free herself. An elbow collided with his jaw, nails wrenched at his skin, but still, she was helpless with his considerable bulk pinning her down. He hoped she could feel him hardening against her. He ground his pelvis against her stomach, giving her a little taste of what was to come. She spat in his face and he slapped her hard across the cheek, watching with pleasure as the outline of his handprint glowed a deep red against her porcelain skin. He leant closer, and laughed when her face registered its revulsion at the putrid stench of his breath. He felt her body convulse in a drive heave and she visibly gagged.

"What's the matter Dr. Brennan? Are you feeling a little sick? Would you like me to kiss it all better?" Then, without warning, he crushed his serrated lips against hers. She cried out, trying to turn her face to the side, but he maintained a vice-like grip on her jaw. His tongue, yellow and furry, forced its way between her pursed lips, attacking the inside of her mouth frenetically.

She froze, not quite believing that this was happening to her, and forced herself to consider her options. She thought about his earlier victims, who had been so much younger than her, with no hope of escaping from this situation. How defenceless must they have felt with this callous, cumbersome bastard bearing down on them? There hadn't been much evidence of a struggle; he had clearly overpowered them from the outset, and even though they had probably screamed and pleaded before resigning themselves to the inevitable, he did not reward them for their compliance. So she had two choices. She could give in, allow the tears to fall and the hysteria to take hold, or she could fight back, knowing that it would probably incense him further. She made her decision almost instantaneously.

He howled like a wild coyote when her teeth clamped down on his tongue. She bit into it with all the strength she could muster, trying to gain the leverage required to rip the flesh apart completely. She grunted with the effort, and found herself gagging as the metallic taste of his blood began to pool in her own mouth. Her actions had the desired effect. Her squawking assailant's lust momentarily abated and he was suddenly at great pains to pull away from her. She seized the opportunity to free one of her trapped arms, delivering a hard blow to his temple in the process. It was enough to shift his considerable weight sideways, and she managed to wriggle out from underneath him, trying not to let her alarm escalate as he made an unsuccessful attempt to grab her ankle. Wincing at the sound of his furious cries, once again she found herself literally running for her life.

This time, she headed directly towards the shack. She knew that it was reckless to make a beeline towards what was initially destined to be her holding cell, but rationally speaking, this looked to be the place where he had killed his victims. There would be weapons in there that might be able to give her a fighting chance. She knew she couldn't outrun him forever.

She was struggling to catch her breath as she stumbled through an infinite maze of dimly lit corridors. The air was damp and musty, and held the lingering scent of death. For the first time since waking up from her chloroform induced haze, she briefly allowed her mind to wander, and she pictured Booth pacing back and forth in the lab, piling on the pressure until her team of squints gave him the answers he wanted to hear. Hodgins would probably buckle under the strain, and then he and Zach would have a flash of inspiration. She knew instinctively that her partner would be doing everything in his power to find her; she knew he would have raised the alarm when she didn't show up for their lunch date as planned. She just had to stay alive long enough for his TAC team to arrive on the scene. And, as she rounded a corner and gingerly entered one of the more secluded rooms, she sincerely hoped that would be sooner rather than later.


	3. Chapter 3

Billy slipped off his steel-toed boots, carefully mounting the ladder that led to his vantage point amongst the rafters, the place where he loved to watch his arrogant, over-privileged victims come face to face with their own mortality; sweating, sobbing, and screaming. He had become gifted at remaining perfectly still; there was no fun in being a voyeur if his victims knew he was watching. As soon as he appeared on the scene they invariably became hysterical, their high-pitched shrieks setting his teeth on edge. No, it was when they were left to their own devices that their wretchedness was most apparent.

His previous conquests had eventually resorted to crying for their mothers and mumbling half-hearted prayers, but he didn't think Temperance Brennan was the God-fearing type. She was one of those alpha female bitches who thought that she _was_ God. He knew that she had fastidiously examined every marking that he'd left on his victims' bones, and now she was face-to-face with the catalogue of weapons that had inflicted them. One in particular held her attention.

He watched her reach for the gun with a look of triumph on her face. She clearly thought she'd got one over on him, and her smugness and complacency pissed him off. He had initially been amused by her attempts at fighting back – it made a refreshing change, and he was hoping to test the theory that the harder the chase, the more satisfying the kill. She hit pretty hard for someone so skinny, and she wasn't beyond playing dirty, either. On some level, that excited him, because it would make it all the more satisfying when she was completely at his mercy.

He carefully manoeuvred himself across the rafters, until he was positioned almost directly above her. She remained completely oblivious to his presence until he leaped to the floor, knocking her flying in the process. She was sent sprawling to the ground, and didn't have time to break her fall. Her head made a satisfying crack when it hit the concrete, and she whimpered slightly before passing out.

Inherently suspicious, he walked tentatively towards her, removing the gun from her fingertips and placing it in his back pocket. With dirty fingers, he pulled back her eyelids. Her pupils were fixed and dilated. He then fumbled anxiously for her pulse, and was relieved to find that it was still beating at a reasonable rate. Good. He wasn't finished with her yet. He could barely contain his excitement as he imagined the look on her face when she woke up, bound and immobile, with no hope of escape.

Still, she wouldn't be waking up for a while. Incapacitating her was no longer his highest priority. A lecherous, twisted grin spread across his face as he took in her prostrate form. It wouldn't be quite the same without the tears and the tantrums, but he sensed that Temperance Brennan wasn't the type to give him the satisfaction anyway. His hands were trembling with barely repressed glee as he ripped open her blouse. He yanked her bra downwards, taking a moment to gaze voraciously at her breasts. They were pristine, perfect, just waiting to be mauled by his calloused, rough hands. He squeezed them with voracity; a carnal moan escaping from his saliva-strewn lips as he watched lurid bruises beginning to form. He ached to taste them, to mark her with his teeth as well as his unrepentant fingers, but the bitch had put his mouth out of action – probably on a permanent basis. He channelled his anger by wrenching her nipples between his grubby thumb and forefingers, pinching sharply. He felt a jolt of hedonistic pleasure, but nevertheless found himself missing the agonised whimper that usually resulted from his actions.

He began unbuttoning her jeans with one hand, eagerly pulling down his own trousers with the other. He was more than ready for her now. Her choice of underwear didn't surprise him. Simple black bikini briefs. He snorted. No frills and lace for the practical scientist. He groped between her legs, getting a feel for her, before deciding to remove her jeans completely to enhance his access. She had been cold, clammy and unrelenting to the touch; her legs sealed almost as tightly as her lips had been earlier on that afternoon. He turned around to throw her clothing aside, his own trousers gathering around his knees as he bent forward. He was overwrought with such a heady sense of empowerment that he failed to notice that his gun was now hanging precariously from the edge of his back pocket. Mere seconds elapsed before he clambered on top of her, his breath coming in short gasps of anticipation. For a second, he froze, almost certain that he had heard a sharp intake of breath. He studied her face attentively, relieved to find it devoid of expression.

"Not so cocky now, are you, Dr Brennan?"

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that." She pressed the gun to his temple, and knew better than to allow him so much as a millisecond to react. She pulled the trigger before surprise could even begin to register on his features, heaving a sob as he slumped on top of her, quite literally a dead weight. She was momentarily frozen in terror, and it took several seconds before she lowered her arm and allowed herself to contemplate what had just been about to happen to her. She had managed to save herself from the ultimate indignity, but with the unbearable bulk of him continuing to press against her battered breasts, she felt like she was still being ravaged.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the myriad of horrifying images surrounding her. What was left of his face was positioned on her shoulder, and she could feel puddles of his blood and brain matter oozing across her exposed skin. She mustered every last ounce of her remaining strength to try and remove him, but it was no use. Her heart was pounding tenfold and even though she knew it was a physical impossibility, she felt like her head was going to explode.

'_He's dead, Brennan, it's over.'_

She tried to reassure herself that she was the winner in this situation, but subconsciously she was still living through the nightmare. Even though it was completely irrational, she silently hoped that somewhere, those three young girls could see that justice had finally been served. That's what would make this agony bearable. Then, she turned her head to the side and retched violently - the coffee that Booth had brought her that morning was the only substance still lingering in her empty stomach.

_Booth._ Her eyes welled with tears when she considered what he would think when he found her battered, bloody and broken. She was filthy, covered in vomit, blood and urine. She stank of her own nervous sweat, and of her assailant's foul body odour. She wondered if she would ever be able to wash away his stench. She had effectively blown his head off, but she could still smell his breath, a fetid mixture of decaying gums, garlic and whiskey. She could still taste his blood in her mouth, and she didn't even want to think about the ramifications of him potentially being riddled with an infectious disease. No person in their right mind would want to come within fifty feet of her ever again, and there was no way Booth would let her out in the field with him after this. The thought of not being able to see him on a regular basis, of their friendship beginning to dwindle because of his guilt and her shame, caused her a pain that far outweighed the splitting headache that was gnawing at her skull.

Then something else occurred to her. She had nothing to preserve her modesty. Her bra was dangling somewhere around her waist, her underwear had been yanked askew, and the whole FBI were going to get an eyeful when someone finally released her from this prison. Who was she kidding? Booth was never going to be able to look her in the eye again.


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen, despite his age, liked to think that he could still hold his own against his younger colleagues, but he was struggling to keep up with Booth. He almost collided with the ex army-ranger when Booth stopped abruptly at the end of yet another deserted corridor, motioning for complete silence. All of his senses were in overdrive, and he had clearly perceived something out of the ordinary.

Cullen held his palm face up, gesturing to the rest of the team to momentarily halt their advances. The silence seemed deafening, and only the sounds of their laboured breathing offered any respite. All eyes were on Booth as he strained to hear what had first captured his attention. Only this time, Cullen heard the soft sobbing, too.

"_Oh God."_

Although he completely shared the sentiment, Cullen was disconcerted by the emotion in Booth's tone. The ex-ranger's authoritative aura had always proved completely unshakable, but he was visibly close to breaking point now. He wondered if Temperance Brennan had any concept of how much Booth cared for her, because it was written so plainly across his Agent's face that he could almost feel the intensity of his pain. Although he was almost certain that they had never consummated their relationship, Cullen knew it wasn't healthy for partners to share such a degree of attachment. Still, he was not about to voice his disapproval at this particular moment in time, as he knew that - given his current state of distress - Booth probably wouldn't hesitate to punch him for his insensitivity. Instead, he opened his mouth to offer his colleague some words of reassurance, but in the time it took him to contemplate something that wasn't going to sound trite, Booth had regained control. The change was palpable.

They crept forward, and when they finally reached the room from which the whimpers were appearing to emanate, Booth silently attempted to open the door. It was locked. Protocol dictated that he should not, under any circumstances, announce his presence before obtaining a visual of the situation, but something told him that his partner would not be crying like that if anyone were around to witness it. He made a decision, and didn't bother to consult Cullen.

"Temperance, are you in there?"

His boss looked at him sharply, but Booth returned his gaze defiantly. "Trust me Cullen, I know what I'm doing."

The sobbing abruptly abated, and he heard the room's occupant take a shaky breath. "Booth?" The voice was hoarse, and struggling for composure, but its owner was unmistakeable.

"Yeah, it's OK Bones, I'm here. The whole team's here. We're gonna get you out of there, I promise." Cullen was gesturing wildly to him, willing him to ask if their perp was still in the building. Booth ignored him. He had more pressing concerns. "Bones, are you hurt?"

He heard her breath hitch as she considered her reply.

"I, um..." She trailed off, and Booth gestured angrily to his associates, willing them to hurry the hell up with the battering ram.

"It's OK Bones. The paramedics are on standby, you're going to be fine." His stomach was churning, and he prayed to God that he was right.

"Booth? I don't want everyone else coming in, OK? Just you." Her tone was plaintive, and it broke her partner's heart.

Cullen's eyebrows furrowed with trepidation, knowing that Temperance Brennan's desperate request spoke volumes about the state they were likely to find her in. "Dr Brennan, it's Deputy Director Cullen. I know you've been through hell, and I promise you that Agent Booth is going to have you out of there in a few minutes, but I've got a TAC team here who are itching to catch the bastard that did this to you, so if there's anything you can say that might help – anything at all. Do you think he might still be in the building?"

His request was met with silence. Booth pressed his ear to the heavy wooden door, and thought he heard the beginnings of another repressed sob, but the sound of his own pounding heartbeat was ringing in his ears, making it hard to focus on anything but the sense of abject terror that was close to crippling him.

"Bones? Are you all right?" His voice was showing the strain, and he fought to stop his breath from hitching. He had to be strong for her. "Bones, please, answer me."

"Booth, I –" Brennan swallowed, biting back a further onslaught of tears. "Just get him off me. Please get him off me. I can't breathe." Brennan winced at the slightly hysterical timbre of her tone, hoping that no one but her partner had heard her pleading like a frightened schoolgirl. The bastard lying on top of her was still very much dead, but remained active in his quest to rob her of her dignity. Or what was left of it.

Booth's stomach roiled, and though he had been trained to play the waiting game, no matter how painstaking it turned out to be, the calmness he had projected when negotiating his way through hostage situations - the patience it had required for him to sit through countless stakeouts - suddenly deserted him. He didn't care what was waiting for him behind that door, because the simple fact of the matter was that Bones needed him. And she needed him now. He knew, in the back of his mind, that she would never place him in any immediate danger, irrespective of the extent of her terror. And so, heedless of the repercussions, Booth found himself lifting his right leg into a chambering position and, seconds later, the door was rocking on its hinges, a victim of his awe-inspiringly powerful sidekick. The impact jarred his joints and rattled his teeth, but it felt good to have a temporary outlet for his pent up frustration.

The sound of the door being broken down seemed deafeningly loud, and Brennan found herself flinching involuntarily. She didn't dare to look at Booth. She couldn't bear to see her partner's reaction to her predicament. She heard him order everyone else to stay out, and tears of relief began streaming down her face, washing away some of the coagulated blood that had settled there. She had endured enough humiliation for one day.

Within a matter of seconds she felt the overwhelming burden being lifted from her chest and heard the thud as her assailant was brutally tossed aside. She immediately rolled into a foetal position to try and preserve what was left of her modesty, clasping numb arms across her chest in a bid to cover her breasts whilst she fumbled futilely with her torn bra.

"Temperance…" Booth trailed off, shaking his head in anguish. What the hell could he say? He crouched next to her prostrate form, noting with a pang that she had deliberately turned away from him. He reached out a hand, placing it gently, so very gently, upon her exposed shoulder. The already crippling ache in his gut amplified tenfold when she visibly tensed in response, but he didn't let go.

"Bones, it's me. I'm not going to hurt you. You know that, right? You're safe now."

He could see that she was forcing herself to ignore the pain and the degradation, using her last vestiges of energy to quash any remaining threads of vulnerability. He wanted to reach out to her before she succeeded, to examine every cut and contusion until he was convinced that her physical injuries, at least, would heal. His thumb, seemingly of its own volition, had begun to lightly caress her shoulder, and this time she jerked away sharply, making it painfully obvious that his comfort wasn't welcome.

"Don't touch me, Booth. Please."

He was taken aback by the force of her words, and promptly removed the offending appendage. He didn't have a clue how to respond, he felt like she had physically slapped him.

"If you want to help, then pass me my clothes. I think they're somewhere in the corner, over there."

Booth eyed her torn blouse and skintight jeans, knowing they would do little to warm her trembling frame, which suddenly appeared painfully slender. Instead, he approached the door, asking Cullen to bring him some blankets and grab his black trench coat out of the SUV, knowing that it was thick enough to keep her warm and more importantly, long enough to keep her covered.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was sharp, and she shifted slightly, wondering what was causing the delay.

"It's OK, Bones. Here. Put this on instead." He held his coat out to her, hoping that she would reach out to take it, wondering if she would protest if he took the opportunity to envelop her hand in his own.

"I don't want your jacket, Booth." Her words were flat, and she didn't let him see the tears that sprang to her eyes. He wore that jacket all the time – it was arguably his favourite, how could he offer it to her when she was covered in blood and guts, when she smelt worse than Hodgins after he had been sifting through garbage all day? She didn't want to sully his clothing, anymore than she wanted to tarnish the memories of him wearing it.

"Bones, please. Just take it."

She shook her head stubbornly, trying to muffle a sharp intake of breath at the pain the movement incurred.

Booth was beginning to loose patience. "OK, fine." He noticed that she still hadn't made any attempt to move; she had remained lying on the floor, curled into a feeble ball. He wanted to scoop her up and cradle her in his arms, but he knew she would resist.

"Do you think you can sit up?"

Her assailant's weight must have taken its toll on her, because Brennan found herself heaving with the effort of fulfilling Booth's request. Still, for dignity's sake, she managed to manoeuvre herself into an upright position. She hugged her knees to her chest, willing her breathing to become less laboured. She knew her ribs were severely bruised, if not broken, and the effort exhausted her.

"OK, Bones, that's good. Now, I'm going to give you a blanket, and I want you to wrap it around yourself, OK?"

Brennan sighed in evident exasperation. "Booth, do me a favour and stop talking to me like I'm three years old." She could feel his eyes following her every move, even though she hadn't once sought out his gaze, and it made her feel even more uncomfortable than she did already. "I need to get dressed. Can you wait outside for a minute, please?"

Booth wanted to protest, but he knew it would only agitate her further. He opened his mouth to say something – anything – but promptly closed it again when he realised that he just couldn't find the words.

Cullen was waiting for him when he exited the room, torn between empathy and fury.

"Booth, what the hell happened in there?"

Booth shook his head, backing away from his boss. That was the one question he didn't want to contemplate the answer to. He felt Cullen's hands grasp his shoulders and realised his boss was shaking him. Hard.

"Booth, get a grip, for God's sake. Is she all right?"

Finally, Booth was looking at him, a mixture of rage and anguish clouding his infinitely expressive eyes. "No, Sir, she's not _all right_." He spat the words out; his voice hoarse with emotion. "The bastard was on top of her, with his pants around his fucking ankles. I just pulled what was left of him off her." He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, trailing off in a bid to regain his composure. "She blew his brains out, Sir, she was drowning in his fucking blood. She's beaten up pretty badly, too. But I don't know – I don't know if…"

"Oh God, Booth, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Cullen gripped his colleague's shoulder, wondering how he would have coped if it were Amy, or his wife in that situation. He couldn't even bring himself to entertain the prospect, and shook his head sadly. Temperance Brennan wasn't someone he had warmed to from the outset, but no one had proved themselves more worthy of his respect. Especially after what she had done for his daughter.

Booth's fists were flexing in silent torment. "She won't talk to me, Cullen. She won't let me anywhere near her. I've really fucked it up this time."

Cullen again shook his head, feeling the tension in his colleague's forearm when he patted it consolingly. "Booth, I won't pretend to know that woman anywhere near as well as you do, but I know something for goddamned sure. She's proud. And stubborn. And right now she's trying to re-establish some sense of control. She can't do that if you're trying to mollycoddle her into breaking down and crying on your shoulder." Booth's expression seemed to indicate that he was making sense, so he continued. "But Booth, she is going to break down eventually. Today has been like a fucking horror movie, and she's had the starring role. It's going to hit her at some point. And I know you're going to be there for her when it does. Right?"

Booth nodded vehemently, turning his head away in embarrassment as he felt the beginning of tears welling in his eyes.

"Take as much time as you need, Booth. As far as I'm concerned, you're on indefinite compassionate leave."

"Thank you, Sir. I appreciate it."

Cullen gave him a curt nod, remembering how Booth had taken several sick days and worked without pay to pursue the remorseless bastards that had caused his daughter's untimely cancer. It felt good to finally be offering him something in return.


	5. Chapter 5

Brennan's arms were like lead, her head continued to throb incessantly, and every one of her numerous bruises were crying out for respite. Yet somehow, she felt oddly numb. For one frightening moment, she thought her legs weren't going to support her weight as she forced herself to stand. She stayed fixed on the spot, momentarily paralysed, hoping the disorientation and dizziness would wane. It was the thought of Booth having to physically pick her up off the floor that finally motivated her to place one foot in front of the other. Slowly, tentatively, she crept towards the corner where her clothes had been discarded. Her eyes studied her blouse, which, like her bra, had been shredded by over-eager, unrepentant hands. Both were a sickening reminder of her assailant's feral strength, and now she understood why Booth had been reluctant to hand her the garments. She left them lying there, choosing to wrap the blanket around herself instead. The effort caused her to wince, and once again, she found herself sapped of strength.

Morbid curiosity drew her eyes to the bloody corpse that was destined to pervade her subconscious for a long time to come. Flies had already began to gather around his shattered skull, and she found herself gagging, remembering what it had felt like to be snatched from oblivion by the horrific sensation of him mauling her breasts. Suddenly she felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the dank room, and her lungs were screaming for fresh air. She had to get out of there. Now.

She nearly collided with Booth as she tremulously inched open the door, wondering how many people would be there to gawp at the freak show. But there was only Booth, and Deputy Director Cullen, who promptly averted his gaze and cleared his throat, apparently at a loss as to how to interact with her. She didn't fail to notice that Booth had been waiting mere inches from the door's perimeter; and would have been by her side in seconds if she had needed him. Even now, he reached out strong arms to gently steady her, and as much as she wanted to collapse against him, she braced herself and turned away, her hardened eyes settling on Cullen.

"Deputy Director Cullen, is there an Agent available to take me home?"

Cullen saw the hurt emanating from Booth's eyes, and wondered if Temperance Brennan had any concept of how cruel she was being.

"You're not going home, Bones. I'm taking you straight to the hospital." The tenderness that had previously laced Booth's tone had vanished, leaving no room for argument.

She turned to him, eyes blazing, although she still wouldn't meet his gaze. "Fine. Give me your cell phone, and I'll call a cab."

"Bones, that is probably the least rational thing ever to have come out of your mouth. What are you going to tell the driver? That you're going to an Evil Dead reunion party? In costume?" Booth shook his head in disbelief. "You're hurt Bones, you need to see a Doctor."

"Fuck you, Booth." She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Her partner's face crumpled, and he looked like a puppy that had been kicked with a steel-toed boot.

At some point during their exchange, Cullen had mustered the nerve to look at her. His expression was one of exasperation, mixed with the barest hint of sympathy. "Dr Brennan, Agent Booth is right. You've been through a lot. I know you're not going to want to give a statement tonight, but at the very least, you need to let the paramedics check you over before you go anywhere."

"What I _need_ is a hot bath. The best thing Agent Booth can do is go home and get some rest. That's what I intend to do."

She gazed at them defiantly, trying to envisage a route out of this hellhole. She remembered there being a seemingly never ending maze of corridors, but she wasn't sure if her brain was functioning at the level required to negotiate her way to freedom. That didn't, however, prevent her from trying, especially when Cullen himself turned to leave.

She couldn't keep pace with him, though, and the Deputy Director disappeared before her eyes were able to adjust to the dimly lit corridor. She hadn't progressed more than ten feet when she felt the queasy sensation of her legs giving out from under her. She teetered precariously for a moment and then, much to her consternation, her shaking knees buckled completely. She couldn't withhold a gasp as she anticipated the jarring impact that would occur when her beaten body made contact with the concrete floor. She was falling gracelessly when Booth, once again, reached out to catch her. Only this time, he showed no deference to her need for distance.

"Right, that's it Temperance. I don't care if I have to carry you there kicking and screaming, you're going to the hospital."

Brennan struggled, and cried out, pushing against him with what little strength she had left. Tears were already threatening to spill from her eyes; she couldn't bear for him to hold her like this. She was filthy and she stank, and she failed to understand why he wasn't recoiling, why he didn't find her repulsive. If he carried on pushing her like this, she was going to break down, and she'd had enough of being wretched and weak for one day.

"Booth – "

"I'm not letting go, Temperance."

Their eyes locked for just a second, but in that fleeting moment she saw that he was in just as much pain as she was. Her hand had balled into a fist against his chest, but now she unclenched it, laying it flat against his torso. She could feel his heart pounding at an unnaturally fast pace, an indicator of extreme stress. She wanted to say something to make him feel better, but she was saved from the effort when their attention was abruptly drawn elsewhere.

A slender frame was hurtling towards them at an alarming speed.

"Bren, oh God, sweetie, are you OK?"

Angela stopped about a foot away from where Brennan was standing, and made little effort to conceal her horror as she studied her best friend. She had been crying profusely before she had even reached them, and now the tears fell in earnest.

Booth watched with a lump in his throat as Angela's hand came to rest against Brennan's matted hair, smoothing it back with infinite tenderness. He imagined her devastated expression probably mimicked that of his own when, once again, Brennan baulked.

"I'm fine, Angela. Really."

"Bullshit, Brennan. What did that bastard do to you?"

Brennan shook her head, feigning interest in the concrete floor.

Angela wrapped her arms around her friend's slender form, drawing her into a tender embrace. Brennan stiffened, and her sharp intake of breath was excruciatingly audible. Angela pulled back slightly, laying a gentle hand against Brennan's prominent ribcage. "You're really hurting, aren't you?"

Booth's eyes were trained intently on his partner. He saw her nod almost imperceptibly, wondering why she had refused to admit that much to him.

"Sweetie, I'm not going to lie to you. You look like you've gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson." Angela ran a trembling finger along the length of Brennan's temple. "And obviously you've taken quite a whack to the head, which might explain why Cullen told me that you're refusing to see a Doctor. You have to go to the hospital, Bren. If I was in your position, I know you'd physically drag me there."

Brennan smiled slightly, and then winced as she felt the ensuing twinge in her split lip.

"They've got an ambulance out there, but we can always take my car. Whatever you want, Bren."

"I – I just want a bath, Angela." She didn't need to say the rest. "I know they're going to want to run tests and take samples, but I – I just…."

Fresh tears began to well in Angela's eyes. "I know sweetie. It's not going to be nice. But I'll be right there with you. And I'll make sure you get an en suite room, OK? You'll be able to take as many showers as you want when this is all over. Please, Bren, come with me?"

Brennan's second nod, again barely noticeable, nevertheless spoke volumes to Booth. She had finally relented, and he should have felt nothing but relief. It was evident that his partner trusted Angela implicitly, and it was equally as apparent that Angela deserved that trust. He just wished he didn't feel so negligible in comparison.

The time and energy he had invested in reaching out to Temperance Brennan, in all of her guarded complexity, had apparently been in vain. He thought he had meandered his way through his partner's once impenetrable barriers. He genuinely believed that he had prised open the wire mesh encasing her fragile heart. But now the revelation that he was right back to where he started shook him to the core, and he found himself blinking back the hot tears that had inadvertently begun to stream from his tired eyes.

He needed to get out of there before they sensed his anguish, because the mighty Seeley Booth was feeling pretty raw right now. He cast one final, fleeting glance at his partner and the pain in his chest was so intense he felt like he was having a coronary.

"Just make sure you look after her, OK Ange?" He didn't expect his voice to catch, he knew it had given him away, and he cringed with embarrassment when Angela caught hold of his arm, trying to stop him from making a hasty disappearance. He broke free a little more forcibly than he intended to, leaving Angela with no option but to watch him retreat. With a pang of empathy, she noticed that his shoulders had started to shake.

"Brennan - " Angela had so many questions, but she promptly trailed off when she saw the forlorn look on her best friend's face. Because Temperance, too, was crying, and although she pursed her lips in an effort to contain her sobs, silent tears continued to chorus down her cheeks as she gazed despondently after her partner.


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as he was back inside his apartment, Booth made a beeline for the bathroom. He twisted the showerhead and the fine mist of spray evolved into a pounding jet of warm water. He turned up the heat until it was nearly scalding to the touch, hoping it would burn away the memory of Brennan's ordeal, and soothe the ache caused by her rejection. He scrubbed himself rigorously – even though his partner had barely allowed him to touch her, he was still covered in blood, most likely from the effort of heaving that depraved Son of a Bitch away from her. Billy Marks had been heavy, at least 280 pounds, and Booth knew that he would have struggled to dispose of the bastard if it had been anyone else but Brennan pinned beneath him. He had no doubt that he could overturn a fucking four by four if it meant saving Bones from enduring that kind of trauma again. In the end, Brennan had saved herself – and God knew how many others - from becoming another statistic on Billy Mark's twisted hit list, but at what cost?

Booth imagined what it must have been like for her, wedged underneath that pervert for what must have seemed like an eternity. He could not even begin to fathom the courage it must have taken for Brennan to reach for that gun and hold it against her attacker's head, knowing how easily the stakes could have been turned against her. She had been completely at his mercy, and if she hadn't had the element of surprise at her disposal, she wouldn't have had a hope in hell of surviving. But the nerve it must have taken her to actually pull the trigger – knowing what would happen in the aftermath - that went way beyond the realms of self-preservation.

Booth knew he would never be able to erase the image of Brennan, caked in blood, her beautiful face marred by lurid bruises, her captivating eyes devoid of their usual luminescence. He had tried so many times to meet her gaze, but she had persisted in rebuffing him. She had wrapped her arms around herself as though she was afraid she might break, and had fought to preserve her modesty with every ounce of strength she had remaining. All he had seen was her bare back, which she had promptly turned against him. Having been pressed against the floor when she pulled the trigger, it was the one part of her body that hadn't been left stained by her assailant's blood, and the urge to reach out and trace soothing circles across her porcelain skin had been overwhelming.

He recalled the way she had recoiled from his touch – the numerous references to her need for a hot bath - and he could barely bring himself to consider the implications. Had she been raped? All the evidence pointed towards it, the bastard's limp cock had been hanging between Brennan's legs when he found her. But what if it was precisely that prospect that had motivated her to make such a reckless bid for freedom in the first place?

He was drying himself off when his cell phone emitted a short buzz. He eyed it warily, accessing the new message with a feeling of trepidation.

'_They're keeping her in overnight. She's not happy about it. She hasn't said a word to me since she got back from the examination. She's shutting us all out, Booth, but please believe me when I say that she needs you – more than anyone. She cried when you left. It's the only time I've seen her express emotion all night. Ange x'_

Booth sank onto his couch, suddenly feeling exhausted. He re-read Angela's heartfelt message three more times, wondering what the hell to do. His first instinct was to throw on some sweat pants and drive straight to the hospital, but the thought of sitting in a waiting room chair, knowing that his partner was in his proximity and yet still so far from his reach, was agony. Would Brennan even be willing to see him? Angela had said that she was shutting them all out, that she wasn't speaking to anyone. He could always force his way into her room, but would that destroy what little faith she had left in him?

His eyes roved towards the ceiling, searching for some form of salvation, but it wasn't forthcoming. He was about to bury his head in his hands when he caught a glimpse of the notebook lying next to his phone. He knew that his literacy skills left a lot to be desired, but he wasn't sure he had the courage to lay bare his feelings to his partner's uncompromising face. He considered how much easier it would be to write them down, irrespective of his poor penmanship. It was the coward's way out, but Bones hadn't really left him with any alternative. He picked up a ballpoint pen and smoothed out a sheet of paper, wondering where the hell to start.

'_You're going to have to bear with me here, Bones. I know you like everything in your life to be structured, focused and rational, and you're probably a stickler for good grammar, too. I'm not used to putting things down on paper, and I can already see you cringing at the state of my spelling. If I had any choice in the matter (meaning, if you weren't so Goddamned stubborn) I'd be offering you a 'guy hug' right now. But if you're going to keep shutting me out, then I'll do whatever it takes to get you to listen - even though my hand is starting to cramp already. I guess that's what I get for shirking so much paperwork._

_You drive me crazy and there is nothing structured, ordered or rational about my feelings for you. I still can't believe that you wanted me to go home and get some sleep, as if it would be easy for me to put today behind me and snag some shuteye. That hurt, Bones. Do you really think that I could bundle down for the night when I know that you're stuck in a hospital bed with the weight of the world on your shoulders? I know you can be a little slow on the uptake sometimes and you think that you're clueless when it comes to reading other people, but you'd have to be pretty thick not to be able to see how much I care about you. And - Dr. Brennan - I know you're far from being stupid. Do you really think I could just turn my back on our partnership and settle for a cup of coffee every now and again?_

_Bones, I always thought that actions spoke louder than words. I thought I could show you, just by being there, how much you've come to mean to me. Maybe I should have just spelt it out for you – I know you hate people beating around the bush – but I kept my mouth shut because I was scared that if I put a name to my feelings, it would fuck everything up between us. I've never felt as close to anyone as I do to you, and our friendship means more to me than anything in the world, besides Parker. I would rather live in denial than ruin what we have. So I drew the line, Bones, I thought it would save me from falling into the abyss. But I'm pretty sure that I was already sinking._

_You know, I hated myself for months after what happened with Cam. I pressured her into doing something that almost got her killed – it was my fault, no doubt about it. But there was another reason why the guilt was gnawing at me Bones, because what I felt when I first laid eyes on her in that hospital bed, it wasn't horror, it wasn't remorse, or distress, or even anger. It was relief, Bones. I looked at Cam and I was fucking relieved that I wasn't seeing you. And that made me feel like the biggest shit ever to have tarnished the face of the Earth. That's why I had to break it off with her. It turned out that I was just a booty call anyway, but I couldn't keep leading her on, not when I was faced with the reality of my feelings for you._

_Bones, every time I come close to losing you, I have to think about what my life would be like without you in it. And that terrifies me. I've been shot, I've been stabbed, I've had my feet beaten with hot rods until every bone in them was broken, but none of that comes close to the pain I feel when I see you hurting. And right now, I'm aching all over. _

_I know you think I'm an Alpha male who gets some sense of self-worth from protecting you and beating the living shit out of anyone who pisses on my territory. But I know I don't own you Bones, I know you're anything but defenceless; I've seen you fight off guys twice your size, and I've little doubt that you could do the same to me if you wanted to. I'm not trying to be possessive or patronising – I love how independent you are. But sometimes I feel this insane urge to control your comings and goings – not because I'm trying to dominate you, but because I'm trying to cling onto the woman that I love and protect her from the horrors that we both know are out there. Does that make any kind of sense to you? _

_I bet you're re-reading the last paragraph now. Well, let me save you the trouble. Yes, Temperance, the word I used was love. I love you. I hope that doesn't horrify you too much, but I'm not going to take it back or apologise, because if I have to wake up every morning wondering if I'm going to get the chance to tell you the truth before some bastard takes you away from me on a permanent basis - then frankly, fuck being coy. _

_I love you, Temperance Brennan. _

_And you can stop scowling because, no, I'm not just another guy tapping into his biological urges and wanting what he knows he can't have. I'm not going to deny that you turn me on – you don't even want to know what was going through my head when you were draping yourself all over me in Vegas, but I think I can safely say that this goes way beyond your average Neanderthal's response to an attractive woman._

_I know you're all about facts and calculations so, Bones, let me present you with some evidence:_

_FACT: Even when you've been knee deep in mud and decomposing corpses all day, I still think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen._

_FACT: Even after three years, when you walk into a room, my heart always starts beating faster. _

_FACT: No matter how crap my day has been, just looking at you makes me feel better._

_FACT: Your voice, and your laughter, are my favourite sounds in the whole world._

_FACT: Even when you're going out of your way to drive me crazy, I still relish every second of our asinine arguments._

_FACT: When you cry, I feel like my heart is breaking, and when I hold you, I never want to let go._

_FACT: When you're hurt, I feel like someone has physically punched me in the gut._

_FACT: I mentally replay our kiss under the mistletoe about 20 times a day. _

_FACT: Clichéd though it may be, your touch makes my whole body tingle and your eyes – well they're just captivating, Bones. _

_FACT: Even though I want nothing more than for you to be happy, I hated every second of seeing you with Sully, and when you told me you were thinking about sailing away with him into the sunset, I wanted to jump off the nearest building._

_FACT: Even though I pretend to find your quirks weird and annoying, I actually think they're kind of endearing._

_FACT: Every night I wake up in a cold sweat because I keep having nightmares about you being buried alive, or fed to the dogs, or crucified by some deranged Voodoo sorcerer. And after today, I'm afraid I won't ever be able to sleep again._

_So, Bones, add that all up and what do you get? I hope I've at least managed to make you realise that it's not guilt, or pity that made me want to reach out to you tonight. It's something else entirely. And as much as I'd like to forget that today ever happened, we're not going to get back to normal by whitewashing over everything until you can look me in the eye again._

_So, I guess if you're not ready to tell me how you're feeling, I can spill my guts to you instead. I was petrified today, Bones. Protocol went out of the window. I would have disregarded everything the FBI ever drummed into me if it meant I got so much as a step closer to saving you. I just wanted to reach you before it was too late - I didn't care who got caught in the crossfire, I didn't care if Cullen was looking at me like I'd sprouted horns - you were all that mattered. You are all that matters, Bones. _

_I don't know, maybe you're right about God after all. I was praying for your salvation today, praying more intensely, more desperately, than I ever have. And even though I'm glad – so glad - that you're still in one piece, I know that, deep down, you're broken. When you couldn't even meet my eyes, when you wouldn't even accept my jacket – it killed me, Temperance. I know I don't deserve your faith, or your trust. All I ever wanted was to be there for you when you needed me, but somehow I always manage to fuck it up. I swear, Bones, one day I'm going to fit you with a tracking device – for the sake of my sanity. _

_I don't blame you for pushing me away, you probably think I have nothing left to give you, but if you only knew how much I wanted to hold you back there. The blood and the guts and the stench – they didn't even register with me, Bones, because all I saw was your eyes, and the torment in them made me want to look up to the Heavens and scream every fucking obscenity I know. Because you're the last person on Earth who deserves that, Bones. You've been through so much, and I know you're going to roll your eyes and tell me that there are plenty of people who have suffered worse fates than you have – and you're right, as always - but as much as every victim pulls at my heart strings, as much as I want to avenge every senseless death, it all pales in comparison next to the agony of seeing you like this. _

_Temperance, you're the strongest woman - no, scratch that - you're the strongest person I know. I don't even want to imagine what you've been through today – I saw enough to realise how brave you were to get out of there alive. I grew up with military men, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that they would have cowered in the face of your courage. I don't think you realise how awe-inspiring you can be, Bones. But if today hadn't had some kind of a devastating impact on you, then you wouldn't be human, and there is no way that I – or any of us – can accept that you're not in need of a shoulder to cry on right now. There is nothing shameful about vulnerability, Bones - don't forget that I've bared my soul to you before, put my pride in your hands, and it's still intact._

_There was a time, though, when it wasn't. When I was in the Middle East, and those bastards were torturing me without reprieve, it wasn't just my bones that ended up shattered. They broke my spirit, Bones, I lost the will to fight back, and when my buddies rescued me… well, let just say that my attempts at putting on a brave face were overshadowed by the snot and the sweat and the tears. I was whimpering like a newborn baby, saturated in my own shit, and my dignity had been left to rot somewhere – well, somewhere way past where Jesus lost his sandals. I didn't think I'd ever get my life back, but it was my friends and family who pulled me back from the brink. I got immersed in my new job, started to feel like I could make a difference, but it wasn't until I met you that I finally started to feel the joy of waking up every morning. And I hope, one day, to do the same for you. _

_So please, Temperance. Don't shut me out.' _

Booth couldn't have written anymore, even if he had wanted to. His hand was rigid, and yet somehow trembling, and he had to literally wrench the pen from his fingers, flexing his muscles until the pins and needles subsided. To his consternation, he found a lone tear trickling down his cheek, and before he could wipe it away, it fell onto the now creased paper, smudging the ink slightly. His lips pursed together in a wry smile as he thought that, at least now, she wouldn't doubt his sincerity. He didn't bother to re-read what he had written, for fear that it would make him cringe with embarrassment and promptly reconsider his actions. If he considered the potential repercussions for even a second, he knew he would screw up this self-indulgent mini-saga and toss it into the nearest bin. But Bones was already blanking him, so what was the worse that could happen?


	7. Chapter 7

Knowing she was too weak to stand for extended periods of time, Brennan slid down the pristine white tiles encasing her shower stall, sitting gingerly on the floor and letting the water rain down on her. True to her word, Angela had made sure that she was allocated a private, en suite room. Everything around her was gleaming, illuminated by the harsh overhead lighting found only in hospitals. She was relieved to see that there was no evidence of the room's former occupant – everything had been cleaned, meticulously so, but the brightness of it all nevertheless made her wince. She had been worried that the stream of water would be feeble, repressed by a build up of limescale, but it seemed the cleaners hadn't neglected their duties in this respect, either. The water pounded onto her, cascading over her aching muscles, and she fought the urge to cry out when the powerful torrent made contact with the sizeable lump on the back of her head.

For several minutes, Brennan didn't move, her eyes were fixed intently on the water seeping down the plughole. It was the colour of muted crimson, and only when it began to run clear did she reach for the toiletries that Angela had brought from the hospital shop. She picked up the sponge, wishing it were a pumice stone, and coated it with a generous helping of fragrant body wash. It had a fresh, citrus tang, and smelt strangely soothing. Her epidermis began to glow a bright pink under the onslaught of hot water and ferocious scrubbing, but the pain eventually became too intense for her to continue. Her breasts were too tender, her limbs were too tired, and she had no choice but to sit perfectly still until she recuperated from her exertions.

Her skin had started to wrinkle and pucker from prolonged immersion, but she wasn't finished yet. She picked up the shampoo, wondering how a small bottle could feel heavier than a dumbbell. Her brunette tresses were matted with dried blood – it felt as though she had dispensed a whole canister of gel into her hair, and even though her arms were screaming with the effort, she washed it six times before she was even vaguely satisfied with the results. She massaged her skull vigorously, heedless of the bump on her head. It actually helped to relieve some of the tension, although it promptly returned when she realised that the bottle was now empty. She reached for the conditioner instead, and ran a brand new comb through her knotted hair, oblivious to the tears that began to stream down her cheeks. She should have become accustomed to the pain by now.

Next came the face wash. It contained both witch hazel and tea tree oil, and her lip began to sting violently when she first applied it. For one horrifying moment, she had an all-too-vivid flashback of her assailant's tongue in her mouth, and now she reached for the toothbrush and toothpaste, removing them from their packaging with shaking hands. The bristles were firm at first, but they soon acquiesced to her frenzied brushing. She was making her gums bleed and the metallic taste was a ghastly reminder of the lengths she had been forced to go to when fighting for her freedom. She scoured her tongue until she nearly gagged, and then ploughed her way through half a bottle of Listerine. Her mouth was burning, her eyes were watering, but finally she felt as though she had rid herself of his vile taste.

Ten minutes later, Brennan emerged from the shower stall, leaning against the sink to steady herself. Her eyes slowly travelled upwards and she stared at her ghostly reflection in the expansive mirror. It was like New Orleans all over again, only now the bruising was more extensive. His fingerprints were etched on her jaw, four dark brown bruises on the right hand side of her cheek, one solitary bruise on the left. There were blotches of yellow, green and purple scattered around her right cheekbone, and her eye had swollen shut in sympathy. A scab had formed on her upper lip, and her attacker's teeth marks were evident on the lower one. She briefly contemplated whether she should take a few steps backwards and examine the damage he had inflicted below her neck, but something told her that was something she just didn't want to see.

Instead, she towel-dried her hair and slipped on her hospital gown, feeling achingly alone. She knew Angela, Hodgins and Zach were in the waiting room, desperate to offer her their support, but she also knew that the one person who truly had the capacity to comfort her was no where to be seen. Brennan had intentionally driven Booth away, knowing that it was the best thing for both of them in the long run, but it didn't change the fact that, right now, she would have given anything to be enveloped in his arms. Though she would never admit it to anyone but herself, somewhere along the line, they had become her safe haven.

She crawled into the freshly made bed, beyond exhaustion. She wished she could just fall asleep - to forget if nothing else - but her eyes remained open and fixed on the ceiling, because she knew that, as soon as she shut them, she would be transported right back to that room again.

She was dozing, somewhere between the realms of consciousness and fitful sleep, when a light knock sounded at her door. She visibly jumped, and willed her heart to stop its erratic pounding. She wasn't sure whether to feel relief or disappointment when a stout Nurse popped her head around the doorframe.

"How are you doing, honey?"

Brennan frowned at the inanity of the enquiry and was tempted to ignore her completely, but her curiosity was piqued when she noticed the wad of paper the Nurse was holding in her oversized hands. "I'm fine," she responded curtly, sitting up. "What do you want?"

The thought of being subjected to yet more poking and prodding was far from appealing. It had taken all of Brennan's persuasive powers to prevent them from strapping up her ribs, an unnecessary procedure that would have only served to inhibit her range of movement further.

The Nurse gave her an apologetic smile, entering the room with what appeared to be trepidation. "Sorry, honey, did I wake you? I told your friend that you were probably sleeping, but he insisted that I give you this letter. He said I had to stay here until I was sure that you were actually reading it…"The Nurse was somewhat intimidated by the heated scowl that had formed on her patient's battered face – "But I'm more than happy to leave you to your own devices." She handed Brennan the letter, and watched her patient's face noticeably soften when she recognised the handwriting.

"Booth wrote me a letter?" The question was rhetorical, but the Nurse instantly perceived the transformation in Brennan's tone. The brunette no longer sounded quite so jaded; her voice was laced with something else – hope?

The Nurse had been poised to leave, but now she hesitated, wanting to offer this obstinate woman – whose pride was clearly her own worst enemy - some words of consolation. "Your friend – well, he looked pretty upset. He obviously cares about you a lot. Are you sure you don't want me to send him in on my way out? He seems to think that you won't see him, but…"

Brennan was clearly affected by her words, but she shook her head vehemently. "No, thank you. He's right. I don't want to see him."

"Are you sure?"

"What part of 'no' don't you understand?"

The prickly exterior was back with a vengeance, and the Nurse knew better than to push the issue. "OK, Dr Brennan, I won't ask again. I'll leave you to get some rest now."

"Thank you."

Brennan's hands were trembling as she unfolded the wad of paper. Her name had been written on the top of it in Booth's unmistakeable scrawl. _'Temperance.' _He had called her by her full name several times that night, as though 'Bones' was too frivolous to fit the situation. She liked it, but she simultaneously hoped that it wouldn't become a force of habit for him, because, truth be told, she rather liked the fact that Booth had a pet name for her.

The sense of dazed numbness that had settled over her since arriving at the hospital five hours ago slowly began to subside. As always, Booth had elicited a myriad of emotions within her. The thickness of the document terrified her. How could a man who protested about filling in one simple form have written fourteen pages of manuscript in a single sitting? She could see that his hand had been cramping with the effort; his emboldened script had visibly deteriorated as the letter progressed.

Then she noticed the prominent tear stain, and felt her stomach plummet in response. For one heart-stopping second, she wondered if this was a goodbye note, if her temperamental nature had finally pushed her partner over the edge and out of her life for good. She took a deep breath, which somehow evolved into a sob. Surely he wouldn't do that to her? Not after everything she'd been through today?

And so, even though she was terrified of what the letter's contents might hold - even though her first instinct had been to place it on her bedside table and deal with it in the morning - if at all, she forced her one good eye to focus on the opening paragraph. And then she began to read.


	8. Chapter 8

Booth was pacing aimlessly in the hospital's waiting room. It had been over two hours since he commandeered the Nurse's assistance. He had seen her around thirty minutes later, and she had given him a warm smile and a 'thumbs up' gesture, but what, exactly, was that supposed to mean? Was it merely an indication that she had completed her task and handed the letter to Bones, or was she trying to convey that Bones was reading the letter and was receptive to it? He wasn't sure what he had been expecting to happen, but anything would be better than this gaping void.

Angela approached him, compassion clouding her expressive eyes. "Booth, stop making like the Duracell Bunny and sit down for a minute, will you?"

Booth gave her a tight smile, sinking down onto one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. His right leg was throbbing from his earlier collision with the solid oak door, and he rubbed his knee absent-mindedly.

"Look, I'm going to say something, and I want you to listen, OK?" Angela knelt on the carpet directly in front of Booth, enveloping his calloused hands with her own. "I know I've made you and Brennan cringe with my asinine innuendo, and you probably think that when I joke about you getting together, I mean for the purposes of sexual gratification. But Booth, I'm not blind. I know it goes so much deeper than that. You don't have to tell me what you wrote in that letter, because I can see it in your eyes every time you look at her. You love her, don't you?"

Booth's jaw visibly clenched. He refused to meet Angela's penetrating gaze, but he nodded, and Angela squeezed his hands in response.

"And you know she loves you, too, right?"

No response was forthcoming, and Angela felt her eyes beginning to well with tears, hating to see someone who was usually so self-assured riddled with insecurity.

"Booth, Brennan has been my best friend for ten years. I've seen her go through men like you go through ties, but never, ever, have I seen her respond to anyone the way she responds to you. You'd have to be completely oblivious not to see the way her face lights up when you walk into a room. Everything she says seems more impassioned when you're around. And do you have any idea how difficult it is to get her to smile? But Booth, you don't just make her smile, you make her laugh. And that, my friend, is a beautiful thing to behold."

Angela paused to take a breath, catching Hodgin's eye across the crowded waiting room. His expression was one of concern, and she smiled at him tremulously to indicate that she was gradually breaking down Booth's defences.

"Booth, Sully handed his heart to her on a plate, he offered her the sun and the sea and the stars, but it wasn't enough. All _you_ have to do is bring her a cup of coffee and it makes her smile for the rest of the morning." Angela gazed at Booth intently, willing him to recognise the truth in her words. "I know you both whitewashed over why exactly she decided to stay, why she sacrificed her one shot at happiness, but there was never any doubt it my mind. It was because of you, Booth. Because the thought of not seeing you every day made her miserable, and nothing Sully could have said or done would've changed that."

"And she actually told you that, did she, Angela?" Booth's tone was bitter, his expression cynical. Under any other circumstances, he could have seen the merit in Angela's psychology and would have derived a sense of comfort from her insightful observations, but tonight's events had placed too many shreds of doubt in his mind.

"She didn't have to tell me Booth. Even Zach could have worked that one out. It's not just about you being there for her, either. I've known her for an eternity, and I can count the number of times she's cried on my shoulder on one hand. Hodgins told me what happened after what went down with Kenton, how she held onto you like she was never going to let go. That isn't something Brennan does, unless she trusts you implicitly."

"Then what went wrong, Ange?" Booth's eyes were screaming with torment, struggling to understand. "Why did she push me away tonight?"

"Think about it Booth. It might not have been particularly dignifying to be found tied up and suspended from a hook like a carcass, but when you saved her from Kenton, you were in a pretty bad state yourself – Hodgins said you could barely stand. So when she collapsed on the floor with her arms around you, it was as much to reassure herself that you were all right as it was to seek comfort for herself. But tonight was different, you know that as much as I do." Angela swallowed, finding the strength to vocalise what she hadn't even been able to bear thinking about. "I mean, I wasn't there, I don't know, but Cullen said – he said that when you found her, she was practically naked, pinned to the floor by some bastard whose brains she had to blow out to stop him from – from..." Angela shook her head, releasing Booth's hands to wipe away the tears that had begun to fall from her anguished eyes. "I saw what she looked like afterwards, and God knows, it wasn't pretty. Would you want her to see you like that? I mean, this is a woman who has probably been fantasising about getting naked in front of you for a very long time, and now she probably thinks that instead of seeing her for the beautiful, strong, sensuous person that she is, you're just going to see damaged goods."

"No!"

There was a momentary lull in the waiting room din as several eyes turned to stare at Booth. His vehement exclamation seemed to reverberate around the room as, once again; he sprang from his chair and resumed his pacing.

Angela followed him, laying her hands on Booth's forearms and forcing him to a standstill. Then she cupped his face in her hands, imploring him to look at her. "I know. I know that's not how you feel, and that's why I'm so, so glad that you wrote her that letter, Booth. I know I'm spouting a lot of supposition here, but I just think that she's terrified to let you see how much tonight has affected her, because she's scared that it'll mean the end of your partnership. That you won't let her out in the field with you anymore."

Booth nodded, beginning to comprehend the rationale behind his partner's behaviour. It wasn't the same as hearing it from her own lips, but he knew that Bones was far from forthcoming about her feelings. He just hoped Angela knew her as well as she thought she did.

"If you don't have your head screwed on right, this job can make you jaded. That's why I love working with her, Ange, because no matter what we're faced with, she makes it bearable. And I know that she's the driving force behind our team, the reason why we have such a high success rate. She's brilliant at what she does, and I would never, ever, take that away from her. But a part of me…" He trailed off, sighing. "I just want to keep her safe, Ange, that's all. I just…" His voice cracked, and he turned away, once again fighting back tears.

But Angela was crying, too, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. They held each other for several moments, laughing through their tears when Hodgins appeared and promptly engulfed them both in a bear hug.

Zach shifted uncomfortably as he observed their embarrassing interplay. He felt pitifully out of place, and pretended to be absorbed in his cumbersome textbook when Booth's eyes came to rest on him.

"Zach, come on, buddy. Group hug."

Zach momentarily froze, wondering how to proceed. He was just as concerned about Dr Brennan as his colleagues, but for some reason, it seemed horribly inappropriate to cry in front of all these people. He stood up slowly, and awkwardly extended his arms, inordinately pleased when Booth placed a hand on his shoulder and drew him into the circle, as though he was just as much a part of the group as everyone else.


	9. Chapter 9

Temperance Brennan was crying in a way she had never allowed herself to before. Loud, convulsive sobs were racking her frail frame, and she clutched Booth's letter to her chest in a bid to offer some support to her bruised ribs. She had been so swept up in what her partner was saying that for one blissful moment, she had been drawn away from herself, to a place where the fatigue and the pain did not wield complete control over her consciousness. But then she had considered the letter's contents in their entirety, and her headache had evolved into what felt suspiciously like a migraine.

Her partner had been self-deprecating about his prose, but there was no denying that Booth had a way with words that far surpassed anything that she, even with her vastly superior vocabulary, could emulate. She was a best selling author, but her editor had frequently told her that there was something cold and clinical about her style. Her matter-of-fact candour leant itself well to crime procedurals, so it had never become too much of an issue, but there was a reason why the scenes between Andy and Kathy invariably took place in the bedroom. Temperance was well-versed in sexual gratification; she wasn't ashamed to seek out pleasure, and she wasn't ashamed to give it. But when it came to mapping out the nuances of a relationship – the meaningful conversations, the romantic gestures, the contentment of companionship, she was clueless. Or at least she had been. Until Seeley Booth took the liberty of swaggering into her life.

She had thought, at first, that the chemistry between them had been purely physical. He was well structured, and anyone who was female and heterosexually inclined would have found it difficult to overlook his form-fitting shirts and defined physique. His attitude, however, had left _a lot_ to be desired. Booth's repeated refusal to defer to her superior wisdom had frustrated the hell out of her. And he'd had the audacity to call _her_ arrogant, when he was bordering on becoming a megalomaniac! Brennan knew that she would have been preening her partner's ego by making a pass at him, so as a point of pride, she deliberately ignored the twinge of arousal she felt whenever Booth invaded her personal space – which was, unfortunately, often.

Somewhere along the line, however, she'd had to concede that Booth was so much more than she had initially given him credit for. He was street-smart, and loyal, and selfless enough to genuinely care about all of their victims and the families they'd unwillingly left behind. Justice wasn't just a job to him, it was his vocation, and that was one of the few things that they actually had in common. She supposed that, if she had been forced to seek out somebody's company, he wouldn't have been the last person on her list. And, truth be told, if Booth hadn't deigned to grace her with his presence for an extended period of time, she did occasionally miss him. He kept her entertained and he kept her on her toes, but his flaws still far outweighed the plus points she had gradually begun to observe.

But then her partner had developed the uncanny knack of appearing whenever she was feeling down, leaving her both stunned and scared by how well he could read her. It was rare for her to openly confide in him, and yet somehow Booth could gauge what she was feeling when she herself didn't have the capacity to articulate it. He was equally as perceptive when it came to easing her insecurities, and Brennan knew that his earnest letter had set out to accomplish precisely that. Every sentence had been tailored specifically to make her feel better, but in actuality, his heartfelt words had stirred up more turmoil than she could even begin to contend with.

How was she supposed to react to him laying bare his uncensored emotions when she was trying so hard to repress her own tumultuous feelings? Clearly the events of today had marred Booth's usually impeccable judgement – he had mistaken his concern for her safety and his pity at her predicament for something else entirely. Because how else was she supposed to deal with his declaration of love?

She had never even allowed herself to consider that the bond she had forged with Booth amounted to anything other than a close friendship. She didn't even believe in love! It was just a chemical imbalance in the brain, excess levels of Serotonin clouding your common sense. That's why reading Booth's letter had shaken her to the core, because everything he had written had reached out and touched her with an intensity, a profundity, that she would never have thought possible.

Dr. Temperance Brennan was crying because her partner had asked her to consider the facts, and her conclusions were not supporting her initial hypothesis.

She had spent years agonising over her parents' abandonment, resigned to living with the loneliness and despondency that had haunted her since she was left to fend for herself all those years ago. Her memories, back then, had been peppered with images of mass graves and rotting corpses, and the bleakness of humanity had left her feeling as though there was a gaping void where her soul should be.

She didn't think she would ever recover from the shock of discovering her mother lying in Limbo, because up until that moment, she had been able to cling onto hope, if nothing else. And then Booth had come knocking at her door with an assortment of Chinese cuisine, encouraging her to eat even though she was sick to the stomach of the pain that life seemed insistent on causing her. That had been a pivotal moment for Brennan. She had recognised, then, that Booth cared enough to want to comfort her, and the realisation that he had clearly been thinking about her – long after their working day had elapsed - had elicited a flicker of warmth in her otherwise anaesthetized heart.

Only a few days later, she had found herself breaking down in front of him – all she had ever wanted was to know the truth, and yet somehow she had found herself wilting beneath the burden of it all. And oh, the irony: because in actuality, she had been living a big, fat lie - albeit inadvertently. She was a rational, empirical scientist who had always had the answers at her disposal, and yet she had been left standing in that barn, shell shocked, faced with endless uncertainties and unknowns. Booth's simple words had meant so much to her, because she had been able to accept the honesty in them, if nothing else. _"I know who you are."_ And Booth genuinely did know her – sometimes he knew her better than she knew herself.

But did that amount to anything remotely resembling love?

It didn't take much for Brennan to vividly recall the ache in the pit of her stomach when Booth had been kidnapped. She had been willing to swallow a lifelong antipathy towards her father if it meant finding her partner before his captors could inflict any irreparable damage, and her relief at doing so had been all-consuming.

A smile automatically graced her lips as she pictured them sitting opposite one another in the café afterwards, singing her favourite childhood song. That smile then quickly evolved into a frown as Brennan recalled the level of restraint it had required not to reach across the table and envelop Booth's hands in her own.

And then there was Vegas; the horror of watching Booth being pummelled into submission in the boxing ring, the remorse she had felt in knowing that she was the one who had placed him there in the first place. She had pleaded with him to stay down for fear that he'd never get up again, and she hadn't really been playing a part when she ran to embrace him afterwards. He had leant against her, too weak to stand upright, and she had wanted to run her hands over every inch of his body to reassure herself that he hadn't suffered any lasting damage.

And now, with a lump in her throat, Brennan remembered how close Booth had been to breaking at the seams when she came to sit by him at the Cemetery. She considered how her hand had been compelled to reach out in reassurance; how her breathing pattern had altered slightly when her fingers had come to rest against his arm, and the little jolt of wonderment she had experienced when he responded to the gesture by laying his hand on top of her own. All of this, however, had paled in comparison to the unanticipated anguish of seeing her partner so uncharacteristically melancholy.

Yes, when Seeley Booth was hurting, Brennan felt like she had been physically punched in the gut.

But he was a good friend, so wasn't that how she was supposed to feel?

Her disjointed thoughts gradually drifted to Sully, a man who had been a lot more to her than merely a friend. How had her feelings for Booth compared to her feelings for her former lover?

If she had only taken Angela's advice and accepted Sully's offer, she would never have had to endure the ordeal she'd been faced with today. It troubled her to realise that, even when taking this into consideration, she still didn't regret her decision to let Sully sail off into the sunset without her. She knew, deep down, that leaving Booth would have been far worse that the momentary pain of waving goodbye to her former lover, and as much as she hated to admit it, that pain had practically evaporated when she had turned around to find Booth standing on the boardwalk, waiting to wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders.

She couldn't deny that Sully had satiated her sexual desires, but even when he had collapsed on top of her, spent from their exertions, her first instinct had been to roll out from underneath him and retreat to the bathroom, his professions of love somehow failing to have any impact on her, a fundamental connection conspicuously absent. And yet when she contrasted this to her encounter with Booth outside of the diner, how his fingers had warmed her skin when they reached out to cup her chin, how she had nearly melted under the intensity of his penetrating gaze... It was embarrassing to admit it, because it sounded so terribly clichéd, but her heart had actually skipped a beat when he titled her head upwards, and she had briefly wondered if he was going to kiss her. At that moment in time, he had made her genuinely believe that some friendships could bind people closer than blood ties ever could, and that revelation had been far more intimate, and far more fulfilling, than anything she had ever experienced with Sully.

But it was the little things that had stuck with her more than anything. Jasper the Pig resided on her bedside table and was graced with a wistful smile every time she awoke. When she ate Mac and Cheese, her chewing was severely hindered by her inability to stop smiling, and sometimes, after a really bad day, she came home and dug out Foreigner's Greatest Hits, jumped on her couch, and played air guitar until she was laughing at her own inanity.

Even though her job description had become markedly more harrowing since she began her partnership with Booth, he had provided her with enough ammunition to stave off the despair. And she didn't mean in the form of a gun. At night she no longer saw dismembered limbs and shattered skulls, instead she found herself replaying her countless arguments with Booth in the car, their laughter in the lab. She thought about their successes, rather than the potential for failure, and if sorrow ever threatened to overwhelm her, she envisaged the aftermath of her disastrous date with the delusional fireman, and imagined Booth holding her. It was ridiculous, and fanciful, but she had to concede that it meant… something.

If she had given Booth a reason to get up in the morning, then Booth had given her the capacity to forget her painful past and begin to enjoy the present.

At least until today…

Brennan's tears began to spill with renewed a vengeance when it suddenly occurred to her that, even now, she was regurgitating memories of Booth as a defence mechanism against the horrors of reality. And she wondered why she was stupid enough to sit here reminiscing when the real thing could conceivably be by her side.

For the first time that night, she was able to transcend her own anguish for long enough to consider how she would feel if their roles were reversed – if Booth was the one lying in a hospital bed, intent on evading her. Would she have allowed her partner his space, or would she have sat in that waiting room feeling as though her life had been put on hold until he offered her some acknowledgement? She considered how much it had hurt, when Booth had stormed away from her in the aftermath of Howard Epp's death, how helpless she had felt when her words had left him feeling affronted, instead of offering him the reassurance she had wanted so desperately to provide. And it was only then that she began to grasp the full extent of what she had put her partner through today.

The surge of shame was crippling, and she found herself peeling back her covers and hastily wiping away her tears. Her eyes focused on the door, which was positioned several feet in front of her, and she limped her way towards it - knowing that, this time, her legs would not waver.


	10. Chapter 10

Brennan felt painfully conspicuous as she roamed the hospital's corridors in her ill-fitting attire. Her standard issue gown was flimsy, intent on falling off her shoulders and exposing her bare skin to the bitter chill of the night air. It didn't help that she was barefoot; the gleaming tiles were so cold it felt as though she was negotiating her way through blocks of ice. She had begun to shiver, and she found herself gravitating towards the nearest wall, using it as a makeshift prop. She was thankful that the Wing seemed to be deserted, because if a Nurse had caught sight of her in this state she knew she would have been ushered straight back to her room. Probably in a wheelchair.

Her heart began to thud erratically as she neared the waiting room door. What would she do if Booth had already left and her colossal effort had been in vain? The prospect was soul-destroying, but she nevertheless gathered her resolve, and somehow found the strength to push open the barrier that was lying between them. The door swung shut soundlessly behind her, and Brennan's eyes moved swiftly around the room, seeking out her partner with the kind of unyielding single-mindedness that she usually only reserved for work. Unbridled relief chorused through her when she successfully located Booth, but she felt something inside of her constrict when she actually took the time to study her partner's hunched physique.

Angela, Hodgins and Zach were all sleeping as soundly as their alien environment would allow them to. Zach's head was lolling to the side, his palm resting mid-way through his extensive reading material, which looked as though it was about to fall to the floor. Angela, in typical fashion, had sought out a more comfortable form of repose and was led across the width of two chairs; her head resting against the jacket that Hodgin's had folded up and positioned in his lap. Jack's arm was looped around her in a protective embrace, and Angela's hand was loosely grasping his wrist. Regardless of the situation, they made a picture-perfect couple, and Brennan saw Booth spare them more than one wistful glance.

Her partner's eyes, heavy-lidded and red-rimmed, appeared to have remained steadfastly open. His attention was invested in the large clock that was mounted on the wall directly in front of him, and he seemed to be watching the minutes ticking by, willing the next rotation to release him from his torment. Brennan was aghast when she saw the time – it was 3.37am. Booth had been waiting for over seven hours, and the toll it had taken on him was shockingly apparent. Brennan didn't need a degree in Psychology to recognise that her partner was in pain. The transformation was startling.

Booth's appearance was invariably immaculate – his clothing, even when he was opting for a more casual style, was always well-coordinated and pressed to perfection. Now, however, he was clad in rumpled grey jogging pants and an oversized sweatshirt. His hair was dishevelled and sticking up in tufts, and as she watched him run his hands through it - a gesture that was overwrought with anguish - she could immediately see why. Brennan had always admired her partner's self assured posture, Booth's military background had clearly taught him to cower in front of no one, and yet now his shoulders were sagging to the extent that his chin was nearly resting on his chest. She watched them rise and fall under the weight of his intermittent sighs, and every one of them elicited an answering pang in her own chest. Even Booth's face seemed to bear the strain of the evening's events. His lips – usually so quick to relax into an easy grin – were pursed with tension, and his pallor had faded to an unhealthy grey. Brennan was usually charmed by the wrinkles that encircled her partner's eyes - they only served to add to his charisma - but now, accentuated by the dark circles that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, the fine lines looked like gaping crevices.

She watched Booth bury his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes ferociously in a bid to stay alert, and it was only then that Brennan realised her presence had remained unannounced for far too long.

"Booth?"

She spoke his name softly, her voice rasping slightly from lack of use. The sound was barely audible, even to her own ears, and yet somehow - as though he had some kind of preternatural sixth sense where she was concerned - Booth heard her.

* * *

For a moment, Booth thought his bid to stay awake had failed miserably. Somewhere in the woeful recesses of his mind, he heard Brennan whispering his name, and the jolt of recognition caused him to physically jump. He thought his subconscious was taunting him mercilessly, until he saw his partner standing in the doorway, tilting her head in a manner that indicated she wanted him to join her without waking the others. He stood up tentatively, willing himself not to blink in case this long-awaited mirage deserted him.

He only had to look at Brennan's face to realise that he was still very much a part of the real world. He was relieved to see his partner cleansed of the gore that had previously marred her appearance, but Brennan's battered features provided a poignant testimony to the harshness of reality. He studied her intently, cataloguing every contusion, and he was able to determine from the reddened streaks that were running the length of her face that she had been crying profusely. The realisation left him with a lump in his throat, especially when he was forced to consider whether his ill-advised declarations had played a contributing factor in her anguish.

All in all, his partner - who had been known to intimidate men twice her size and stature - looked painfully fragile, but Booth knew that if he dared to comment, let alone make a fuss, there was a significant chance that Brennan would turn on her heel and walk away from him again. And this time, he wasn't going to take that risk. And so, even though he was unable to prevent his brow from furrowing with concern when he noticed Brennan's relative state of undress, even though he wanted nothing more than to envelop her in his arms until her shivering abated, he simply held her steady gaze - relieved to be re-establishing the intimacy of eye contact, if nothing else. And then, he waited.

Brennan was slightly unnerved by her partner's lack of response. She had seen the relief in Booth's eyes as he approached her, and she had watched him worriedly assess her condition, but the physical contact she had anticipated was not forthcoming. Booth was standing perfectly still, as though he was afraid to reach out to her, and she realised with a sense of panic that he was waiting for her to make the first move.

Brennan could see that the waiting room's occupants had developed a keen interest in their encounter; she and Booth had become the focus of every wakeful person's peripheral vision. Feeling her privacy had been violated enough for one day, she stepped out of the room and into the deserted corridor, indicating to Booth that he was welcome to follow by giving him the barest hint of a smile. She suddenly felt exhausted, and she knew that she was too drained – both physically and emotionally – to muster the strength and coherency it would require to tell Booth what he needed to hear. She barely had the stamina to stand. Instead, she placed a hand on her partner's arm, surprised to find that Booth radiated warmth, even through the thick fabric of his sweatshirt.

"Booth, there's so much that I want to say, but I really don't have the energy right now." Brennan was already struggling to find the right words. "My brain isn't functioning at its full capacity, and this is all just… too much for me to process." She gazed at him imploringly. "I just didn't want you to think that - well, that…"

Booth shook his head, trying to hide his disappointment. "No, Bones, it's fine, really. It was selfish of me to lay all of that on you, especially after everything you've been through." His tone was becoming laced with self-deprecation, and he found himself evading his partner's gaze. "I don't know what the hell I was thinking. I guess I just lost it for a while. I was so worried about you that I started spewing every idiotic thing that came into my head. I shouldn't have subjected you to that. I'm sorry."

"Oh." Brennan broke the contact she had established with Booth, opting instead to fold her arms across her chest. "So you didn't mean what you said? It was just the…" She hesitated, willing her lip not to tremble, "The literary equivalent of verbal diarrhoea?"

"No!" Almost instantly, Booth realised his mistake, and he cupped his partner's chin in his hands, willing her to look at him again. He wanted to kick himself when he saw the guarded expression in her eyes, and he found himself struggling to explain his motivations in an accessible way. "Bones, you said that the letter was too much for you to process so I figured it would be easier for you to swallow if I tried to… trivialise it in some way. But I meant it. I meant every word. You do believe me, right?"

Brennan nodded, but made no effort to respond when Booth brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. For a moment, they stood in agonizing silence, neither of them daring to speak. Then Booth heaved a sigh, and turned to gaze out of a nearby window, his knuckles turning white from the ferocity with which he gripped its sill.

"Bones, you've always said how good I am with people, but right now, I don't have a clue how to make any headway with you. The last thing on Earth I want to do is upset you, but I obviously already have and frankly, I'm scared of opening my mouth in case I put my foot in it again."

"Which is precisely why I said I didn't want to discuss this tonight." Brennan realised how harsh her words had sounded, and she approached her partner wearily, laying a hand on his shoulder to cushion the blow. "Booth, I'm not shutting you out, or trying to evade the issues. I'm just too tired to talk, that's all."

"I know." Booth reached out to clasp Brennan's hand in his own, noting with dismay that she was freezing to the touch. He turned to face her again, his eyes betraying his concern. "You shouldn't have come out here, Bones. It means more to me than you can ever imagine that you did, but you're right, you need to get some rest, and if you want me to leave…"

"No! That's not what I'm trying to say, Booth." Brennan was becoming increasingly frustrated, wondering why it was so difficult to communicate the simplest of things, and why her partner seemed intent on misinterpreting everything she said. "I mean, I'll understand if you want to go, you're obviously as exhausted as I am, but I was actually going to ask you if…." She faltered, biting her lip, her expression torn somewhere between hope and embarrassment.

"What? You can ask me anything, Bones. Anything."

"Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?" The request came tumbling out of her mouth in a plaintive tone, and Brennan cringed, suddenly all-too-interested in the tiled floor. "That wasn't supposed to sound so needy. I'll be perfectly fine on my own, of course. I just thought it would be - easier - if you were there with me. But I don't want you to feel obliged or anything…"

"Temperance." Booth gave the hand that was still encompassed in his own a tender squeeze. "I'll stay for as long as you let me, OK?"

Brennan nodded; releasing the breath that she hadn't even been aware of holding. "Thank you, Booth."

"Bones, trust me on this one, you _really_ don't have to thank me."

Brennan felt her heart begin to beat with renewed vigour when she was treated to a brief glimpse of Booth's trademark grin, and she offered him her best attempt at a smile in return. She held her partner's penetrating gaze until the intensity started to unnerve her, and then she turned to begin the long walk back to her room. Booth remained by her side, markedly slowing his pace in deference to Brennan's laboured gait. He allowed her to walk independently for the first thirty feet, but he could see that his partner was flagging, and as much as he tried to suppress his protective instincts, they were already kicking into overdrive. He rested his hand against the crook of Brennan's elbow to gauge her response, and when she didn't protest, he wrapped a supportive arm around her slender shoulders, more than surprised to feel his hand brushing against bare skin in the process. His cheeks reddened, and he glanced at Brennan sheepishly, adjusting her gown before tentatively reinstating the offending appendage.

"Sorry Bones, I forgot these things were virtually backless."

Brennan emitted a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, and Booth turned to glance at his partner in surprise, searching her face for any traces of admonition. Brennan's expression was stern, but a definite twinkle of mirth had infiltrated her jaded eyes, and the fact that his partner had found his awkward faux pas amusing was, somehow, heart-warming. Booth had to blink back tears, though, when Bones rested her head against his shoulder, lacing her arm around his waist in a weak embrace. He felt a sense of euphoria at finally being able to offer his partner some support – literally, if not yet figuratively - but he had to wonder if Temperance Brennan had the faintest idea how difficult it would be for him to let her go.

* * *

"Booth, I can't sleep with you looking at me like that." Brennan had been lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, but the intensity of her partner's gaze was palpable. Every time she shifted position, Booth rose from his chair, and she knew that neither of them stood a chance of alleviating their exhaustion when they were both so painfully aware of each other's presence. Now, she rolled over to face her partner, giving him an exasperated look.

"What do you want me to do, Temperance, face the wall?" Booth couldn't prevent petulance from working its way into his tone, and he hoped it wasn't going to have an adversarial effect.

"No, Booth, just…" She gestured for him to scoot closer, so his chair was directly in front of her bed. "Come here. You can lean your head against the mattress, if you want. You're going to strain your neck if you fall asleep sitting up like that."

Booth obligingly leant forward and, using the bed as a prop for his arms, he folded them into a makeshift pillow and rested his head against them. Bones was right - it was a lot more comfortable – even if he was hyperaware of her proximity. His eyelids began to droop, and for one blissful moment, sleep was within his reach, but then he felt Brennan's fingers come to rest against the nape of his neck and begin to languidly run through his dishevelled hair, and he knew it was too soon to be dreaming.

"What are you doing?" He mumbled, raising his face to study her confusedly.

Brennan found herself fighting to conceal a blush, and once again resumed staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry. I was trying to lull you to sleep, but clearly it had the opposite effect."

Booth shook his head. "No, Bones, don't apologise. It was - nice. Really nice." He reached out to take her hand, his thumb tenderly caressing the underside of her wrist. "You just have cold hands, that's all." Impulsively, he removed his sweatshirt, and proffered it to his partner. "Here. Put this on."

Brennan hesitated. The flimsy hospital sheets had done little to assuage the all-encompassing chill that had been plaguing her, and Booth's thick sweatshirt looked ridiculously inviting in comparison, but her partner's tanned skin was already peppered with goose pimples and she knew his white cotton vest wasn't enough to ward off the cold. She started to shake her head, but Booth continued to stubbornly hold out his sweatshirt, his expression defiant

"Bones, I know you want it, so take it. Please. I'll be fine."

Booth was expecting a re-enactment of their earlier altercation involving his jacket, so he was stunned when Brennan relented, reaching out to take the garment with a grateful smile. In her eagerness to don the additional clothing, Brennan paid no heed to her bruised ribs, but the searing pain she experienced when raising her arms above her head left her gasping in agony, and she clutched her midriff, the sweatshirt momentarily forgotten.

Booth leapt to his feet, halfway to the door before Brennan even registered that he had moved. "Booth, where are you going?"

"Where do you think I'm going, Bones? To the soda machine? You need a Nurse, for God's sake!"

Brennan shook her head vehemently, taking several deep breaths before regaining an upright position. "No, Booth, come back here and sit down. Please." Seeing that he wasn't going to listen, she threw back her bedding, seizing his arm before he had chance to turn the door handle. "Booth, I'm fine. Really. I just forgot to take things easy for a minute, that's all."

"Bones, are you trying to give me a nervous breakdown?" Booth stared at his partner as though she was clinically insane. "You know, I always thought that the term 'bed rest' was pretty self-explanatory, but you obviously missed the memo somewhere along the line. You see, Bones, bed rest involves actually _being_ in a bed, and resting." He took her by the shoulders, and guided her back to her cot, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Booth, I'm not terminally ill. I may not be a Doctor of Medicine, but in case you somehow failed to notice, I have an exemplary knowledge of how the body functions. If I think I'm in need of urgent medical attention, don't worry, I'll ask for it."

They stared at each other for a moment, eyes flashing, and then Booth, against his better judgement, started to smile. "I can't win an argument with you at the best of times, Bones, so I'm sure as hell not going to try after nearly twenty four hours without sleep."

"Good." Satisfied that her partner wasn't going to make any more attempts to leave her, Brennan obligingly climbed back into bed, wincing as her skin made contact with the cold sheets. She eyed the sweatshirt warily, wondering if she could negotiate her way into it without causing Booth any more unnecessary alarm.

"Here, let me help." Booth perched on the edge of her bed, bunching up one of the sweatshirt's sleeves into a thick wad. Searching her eyes for any objection, he reached for Brennan's right hand, carefully manoeuvring her wrist through the hole he had created, and then repeated the process with her left hand.

"Put your hands on my shoulders for a second."

Brennan was studying him with an expression that was too complex to ascertain, but she obliged, and Booth gently eased the sleeves of the sweatshirt upwards until they were covering each of her respective arms.

"OK, that great, Bones. Now lean forward slightly."

Booth placed one of his hands firmly against Brennan's ribcage, bracing her against any momentary discomfort, and tried desperately hard to ignore the erratic pounding of his heart as he felt her obligingly shift towards him. He couldn't believe that his partner was permitting him to do this, and the whole experience felt oddly intimate. He avoided Brennan's gaze as he used his other hand to delicately pull the sweatshirt over her head, careful not to graze the bump that was residing there. Then he inched the fabric downwards until it had engulfed the top half of Brennan's slender frame and, noticing that her hair had become trapped beneath it, he gathered the brunette tresses into a loose ponytail, gently releasing them until they cascaded over her shoulders.

"Better?"

The suffusion of warmth was instantaneous, but it took several moments to register, because Brennan was still reeling from the effect of Booth's tender ministrations. She realised with a twinge of embarrassment that she had continued to cling onto her partner's shoulders, even though there was no longer any viable reason for her to do so. Now, Booth was gazing at her with inquisitive eyes, and she nodded slightly, somehow understanding what he was asking her. He opened his arms, and Brennan collapsed against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her hands slipped from Booth's shoulders and came to rest against his chest, her fingers tracing unseen patterns across his torso. For a moment, Booth was frozen in place, terrified that any movement on his part would cause Brennan to baulk. It was only when her arms came to rest around his waist that he began to relax, realising that she wasn't going to pull away from him. He ran his fingers through her hair, caressing the nape of her neck with infinite tenderness, but he kept the embrace light, always mindful of her injuries. His hand began to travel the length of his partner's back, moving in soothing circular motions, and it was only when he felt his vest start to dampen that he realised Brennan was crying. His heart constricted, and he instinctively drew her closer, cradling her against him as tightly as he dared.

"Hey, it's OK Bones. You're safe now."

He leant back slightly, wanting to initiate eye contact, and tenderly wiped away the stray tear that was trickling forlornly down his partner's cheek. To his horror, his actions seemed to act as a catalyst, and Brennan began to cry in earnest, pressing her face against his chest so he wouldn't see it crumpling beneath the weight of her anguish. Booth could sense how much pain every heaving sob was causing his partner, and for the second time that night, he found himself bracing Brennan's ribs against the strain. His mouth was level with her ear and he began to whisper senseless words of reassurance into her hair, but they seemed painfully ineffectual. Brennan was inconsolable, and Booth had never felt so helpless. He would have given anything to assuage his partner's torment, but the dense fabric of his sweatshirt seemed to be forming a barrier between them, minimising contact. Booth tentatively rested his hand against Brennan's bare knee, lightly stroking the smooth skin that resided there. His partner's hand came to rest on top of his own, and he shifted his palm slightly so their fingers could interlace. Agonising over whether he was transcending an invisible boundary, Booth pressed his lips to Brennan's forehead, placing a feather light kiss on her brow.

"Talk to me, Bones."

Brennan drew in a hitching breath, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of Booth's sweatshirt. Her sobs had started to abate, but she remained enveloped in her partner's arms, loath to disentangle herself from Booth's comforting embrace. "I'm so tired, Booth…" She stifled a yawn, as if to emphasise her point, "But every time I close my eyes, all I can see is his face." An involuntarily shudder racked her frail frame, and Brennan found herself fighting the inexplicable urge to break down all over again.

"Temperance, look at me." Booth pulled away from her slightly, cupping her chin in his hand and willing her to meet his empathetic gaze. "You've been through hell today, and as much as I want to sit here and hold you and tell you that everything's going to be all right, I'm not going to lie to you, Bones." Brennan was gazing at him intently, and he brushed his thumb against her cheek, tracing the outline of the bruise residing there. He smiled at her softly, but his expression was laced with sadness. "The flashbacks aren't going to go away overnight, you know that as well as I do. You're going to have some pretty awful nightmares, Bones, and you're probably going to want to wake up screaming." Booth sighed, squeezing his partner's hand. "I can't promise to give you a dreamless sleep, Temperance, but what I can promise you is that, if you let me, I'll be there when you wake up. And I'll be doing everything in my power to make sure that rat bastard doesn't take up permanent residence inside your skull."

Brennan found herself smiling tremulously at Booth, wondering whether the rush of affection she felt for him at that particular moment in time was evident in her expression. Impulsively, she leant forward and kissed him on the cheek, knowing it was not simply the friction of his light stubble against her scabbed lips that caused the ensuing tingle.

"Thank you."

"Anytime, Bones. Anytime." Booth held Brennan close for another few moments, inhaling her scent and finding it strangely soothing. It was only when he felt his own eyelids begin to droop that he mustered the willpower to release his partner, and he eased her into the centre of the bed, wrapping the sheets around her. "You know, if it makes it any easier, I could always ask the Nurse to bring you a sedative?"

"No, I'll be fine, thanks. I'm still getting the chloroform out of my system." Brennan began picking at a loose thread that was dangling from her worn sheet, feeling bereft without Booth's steadying arms around her. "Anyway, it's not like I can take sleeping pills for the rest of my life."

Booth regarded his partner with concern. "Bones, I know it probably doesn't feel like it right now, but what happened today isn't going to haunt you forever. You've got a bunch of people out there who are willing to do whatever it takes to help you get through this, and I – " Booth hesitated, clearing his throat of excess emotion, "Well, you know how I feel."

Brennan was touched by the sentiment, but her smile faded when she realised that Booth was hovering somewhere between his chair and the door. "Are you going somewhere?" She tried to keep her tone light, but a sudden wave of panic was threatening to engulf her.

"No! I was just going to take a…" Booth reconsidered his phrasing, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling slightly. "I was just going to nip to the restroom. You don't mind me using yours, do you?" He gave her a winning smile. "I promise to put the seat back down."

"Of course not."

Brennan watched her partner walk across the room until he had disappeared behind the bathroom door. At some point, Booth turned on the taps, and the sound of running water suddenly reverberated around the room. Brennan's eyelids fluttered closed, and she sank back into the pillows, willing herself to focus on the familiar, calming sound. She was seconds away from oblivion when the first flashback assailed her, hitting her with the force of a sledgehammer.

_Her jaw was being crushed in a vice-like grip, and spittle-strewn lips were struggling to claim her own. She was resisting her attacker with every fibre of her being, but the rank stench of his breath was permeating the air, almost as overpowering as the chloroform he had previously used to sedate her. Then his fetid tongue was forcing its way into her mouth, and Brennan was gagging, finding it increasingly hard to breathe._

She sat bolt upright in bed, shaking, and when Booth emerged from the bathroom, Brennan turned to face him with terrified eyes. He was by her side in seconds, waiting for some indication as to how he could help.

"Booth, just - stay with me, please."

Brennan pulled back the bedcovers, making it apparent that she wanted him to join her, and Booth regarded her intently.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Booth carefully climbed between the sheets, wondering if his partner could hear how fast his heart was pounding. He was beyond exhausted, and everything had taken on a kind of surreal air, as though he was watching events unfold from a vantage point far above where they were actually situated. He settled his head against the pillow, and turned to face his partner, whose face was literally inches away from his own. Booth knew that he should have become accustomed to Brennan's injuries by now, but the myriad of bruises scattered across her achingly beautiful face already seemed to have darkened in intensity. He reached out; tracing his thumb across her split lip, and then began to blow softly across her face.

"You'd better close your eyes, Bones, before you get a draft in them."

"Booth, you're not funny." Brennan had come close to recoiling at the initial sensation of her partner exhaling in such close proximity to her, but Booth's breath was sweet, and minty fresh – a blissful diversion from her earlier flashback. She couldn't help but find his ridiculous antics amusing. "Did you just use my toothbrush?"

"No, I bought my own from the shop downstairs. But I'm not riddled with the plague, you know."

"I know."

Brennan hesitated, and then reached out to place a trembling hand on her partner's hip, wanting to bridge the gap between them. "May I… Would you…" She trailed off, too embarrassed to ask Booth to hold her.

"Well, Bones, seems as though you were going to ask so very nicely..." Booth gave her a teasing smile, but then promptly sobered up. "You should know by now that you don't have to ask, Temperance. Come here."

Booth turned over to lie on his back, and Brennan obligingly rested her head against his shoulder, snuggling against him and allowing his rhythmic breathing to lull her into a state of relative relaxation. Booth wrapped her in a warm embrace, willing himself not to react when Brennan began to absent-mindedly caress his arm. He was thankful that he was still wearing his sweatpants, because he didn't know if he could have coped with the sensation of his partner's bare leg pressing against his own.

"Is this OK, Bones? I'm not squishing you, am I?"

"No, not at all. If I lie flat out then the lump on the back of my head starts throbbing, and if I lie on my side then my ribs start to ache, so this is really quite pleasant in comparison."

Booth snorted at her objective analysis, and Brennan regarded him quizzically.

"What?"

"Nothing, Bones. You just made me sound like an orthopaedic bed, that's all." He started to laugh, and shifted slightly, trying to see his partner's expression.

"Don't you dare move, Booth. This is the first time I've been warm all night."

_I know the feeling. _Booth closed his eyes for a few minutes, hoping that now; at long last, they could get some sleep. He was on the verge of drifting off, but suddenly felt compelled to sneak one final, fleeting glance at his partner. His brow furrowed with concern when he realised that Brennan was still wide-awake.

"Bones." He sighed, running his fingers through her hair in a soothing motion. "You have to go to sleep. I'm right here, and I promise, you're safe now. That bastard can't hurt you anymore." Booth didn't know what more he could say, so on impulse, he started to sing, hoping to lull his partner to sleep.

"_And I've been drinkin' now_

_Just a little too much..._

_And I don't know how_

_I can get in touch with you_

_Now there's only one thing_

_For me to do, that's to_

_Keep on tryin'_

_To get home to you…"_

At some point during Booth's impromptu rendition of her favourite childhood song, Brennan had started to smile. Now, she was actually laughing, clutching her ribs convulsively.

Booth was slightly offended, but he couldn't repress a grin. "OK, well, that didn't exactly have the desired effect."

"I'm sorry Booth, but – ow - I'm not six years old. You can't sing me to sleep like you do with Parker."

"Fine, I won't say another word."

Booth gave his partner a warm smile to belie the petulance in his tone, resting his cheek against the top of Brennan's head and drawing her more closely against him. Once again, he closed his eyes, and for one blissful moment, there was nothing but silence. Then,

"Booth?"

"Jesus Christ, Bones, what?"

Brennan heaved herself onto her elbows so she could study her partner's face in its entirety. "I just wanted to say that your letter…" She hesitated and, noticing the sudden tension pulsating through Booth's jaw line, she knew how important it was to find the right words. "It didn't horrify me, Booth. Not at all. What you said was beautiful, and you write so well..." Brennan stopped abruptly, aghast to see tears welling in her partner's shining eyes. "Booth, I didn't mean to upset you." She reached out to wipe away the lone droplet that had broken free from its prison and was in the process of streaking down her partner's cheek, and her expression was one of anguished bewilderment. "You weren't supposed to cry."

"Well, you laughed at my singing, Bones, what do you expect?"

Thankfully, Booth's quip seemed to ease Brennan's discomfort, and she began to look less like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a four by four. Her hand had lingered against his cheek, and Booth impulsively captured it in his own, placing a gentle kiss against Brennan's bruised knuckles.

Brennan sank back into Booth's embrace, not failing to notice that his heart was beating at a vastly accelerated tempo. This time, however, when his arms tightened around her, she obligingly closed her eyes, and when Angela cautiously poked her head around the door twenty minutes later, they were both sleeping soundly, still enveloped in each other's embrace.


	11. Chapter 11

**_I just want to thank everyone who has taken the time to review my story so far. It means a lot to know that people are engaged and invested in 'Broken Beyond Repair' and I can only apologise for taking so long to update – life has been hectic and my muse deserted me for a while, but hopefully it's back with a vengeance now! Please accept this super long chapter as penance, and bear in mind that I always remedy the angst with mandatory levels of fluff LOL._**

Cullen entered the hospital at 11am the next morning, notebook in hand. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to force Dr Brennan to relive her earlier ordeal, but her statement was crucial and he knew from experience that it was better to obtain the details he needed whilst her memories were still raw. The longer he left it, the more likely he was to be given a censored version of events. Coercing victims into rehashing memories that they were trying desperately hard to repress was cruel, but doing it when they were already on the road to recovery was far worse. Surely it was better for everyone concerned that the matter be dealt with from the outset? Cullen knew that Booth might not exactly see eye-to-eye with him on this subject, but he hoped that the ex-army ranger would at least understand the rationale behind his actions.

Cullen's colleagues had already begun to compile a file mapping out the events of yesterday afternoon. Billy Mark's house of horrors was currently being subjected to one of the most thorough forensic investigations his Agents had ever undertaken. Dr Brennan's torn clothes had arrived in an evidence bag and had promptly been sent off to their laboratory for analysis, but Cullen had seen enough to know that she had been subjected to a vicious attack. A specially trained medic had assessed Dr Brennan's condition as soon as she had arrived at the hospital, and the Deputy-Director had been the unfortunate recipient of the photographs that had been taken during the course of the examination. He had glanced tentatively at the macabre images, before throwing the file aside in disgust. Mottled bruises seemed to cover every inch of Brennan's otherwise flawless form, her legs and arms, her breasts and thighs. She had been mauled, there was no other word for it, and he prayed that Agent Booth would never have to see the extent of her injuries, because Cullen knew that no matter how irrational it was, Booth would blame himself for not being there to rescue his partner when she was in dire need of his help. Surely he had realised by now that trouble was drawn to Temperance Brennan like a moth to a flame?

Cullen knew for a fact that no one could ever indict Special Agent Seeley Booth for being anything less than attentive towards his attractive partner. In fact, in Cullen's opinion, he cared about the obstinate anthropologist far too much, but he had been prudent enough to overlook their distinctly unprofessional connection. After all, who was he to complain when his superiors were praising him for cultivating the best crime-fighting duo the Bureau had ever seen? So he turned a blind eye to reports suggesting that Booth had purposely allowed Brennan's father to evade arrest. He took no action upon hearing that his Agent had taken her brother, who was in violation of his parole, to the hospital to visit his sick stepdaughter before eventually arresting him. Cullen had even refrained from blowing his top when Caroline Julian informed him that Booth had used the Bureau's contacts to deliberately engineer a reduced sentence for Russ. But after the unfortunate incident with the clown and the ice cream truck, there was only so much Cullen could sweep under the carpet. That's why he had brought in Dr. Sweets. The young, but brilliant psychiatrist had unwittingly become his scapegoat. Because he, too, had concluded that Brennan and Booth functioned as an extremely effective team – they had a symbiotic relationship, whatever the hell that meant, and complemented each other perfectly. Cullen had watched their relationship evolve from hostility, to grudging friendship, to mutual respect, to something that he couldn't even begin to define – although he suspected that it fell somewhere within the realms of what the romantics would refer to as "true love." They would die for each other, of that he was certain, and yes, maybe that compromised their objectivity when they were out in the field. But if his superiors ever grilled him about why he had allowed them to stay together, he was going to pass that buck straight to Dr. Lance Sweets.

Having made his way through a maze of corridors, Cullen swung open the doors to the waiting room, his eyes settling on the dishevelled Squint Squad who were drinking coffee and conversing in hushed tones. His gaze sought out the striking, brown-eyed woman who his sick daughter, Amy, had instantly idolised, the magician who had somehow conjured up the Louvre amidst the confines of the cancer ward, fulfilling his daughter's wildest dreams in the process. He gave her a warm smile when she turned to look at him, and he noted her evident fatigue with concern. Still, she beamed back at him, but not before turning to her bearded companion and whispering something urgently. Hodgins stood up abruptly; looking alarmed, and made a hasty retreat towards the exit. Angela, meanwhile, rose from her chair, moving to intercept Cullen before he could follow Hodgins onto the Ward.

* * *

Hodgins allowed himself a moment to study the scene that Angela had deemed "the cutest thing I have ever seen in my life, ever." Dr Brennan and Agent Booth were still lost in the realms of sleep; their bodies intertwined in a tableau of comfort and despair. Booth was sprawled on his back in exactly the manner Angela had described to him in painstaking detail several hours earlier. His chin was resting on top of Dr. Brennan's head, which was delicately positioned in the crook of his shoulder. He had wrapped her in a protective embrace, with his visible hand resting against the nape of her neck, fingers entwined in her unkempt hair. Hodgins smiled slightly, itching to see where Booth's other hand had positioned itself. Brennan was lightly grasping Booth's shoulder, with her arm laced possessively around his midriff. Her breathing was a little ragged, but her expression remained relaxed as she shifted in her sleep, drawing closer to Booth in the process. Hodgins winced as he circled the bed and saw the contusions running across her jaw line. Pressed against Booth's imposing frame and drowning in an oversized sweatshirt, his boss looked uncharacteristically vulnerable and surprisingly young. Gone was the stoic, indomitable façade; this was Brennan at her most trusting and exposed. And there was only one person who she allowed to see her this way, which is why Hodgins currently felt like a voyeuristic intruder.

He was instantly reminded of the scene he had witnessed in the warehouse a couple of years ago, how he had watched with his mouth agape as a sobbing Brennan had collapsed into her partner's arms, whimpering against his shoulder, letting Booth cradle her like she was a small child. She had taken charge again only moments later, blushing with embarrassment at her momentary lack of composure, and had mumbled something about getting Booth back to the hospital. Booth had watched her attentively, but she had studiously avoided his gaze, her body language screaming with awkwardness. She had glanced in the opposite direction, and her eyes fell on Hodgins, widening in alarm when she realised that he had observed her spectacular fall from glory. He had sensed her unnecessary shame and obligingly excused himself, but was compelled to linger in the doorway when he heard Booth begin to speak softly to his humiliated partner. He had furtively turned around, only to see Brennan hefting the wounded Agent to his feet, allowing him to use her as a makeshift prop. Booth had grinned at her warmly, giving her an affectionate squeeze and Brennan, finally, had smiled back, the tension visibly draining from her physique. And Hodgins inwardly danced a little jig, knowing that Angela had barely even skimmed the surface with her theories about their colleagues' enigmatic relationship.

Now, he was the one feeling awkward. Angela had ordered him to alert Brennan and Booth to Cullen's eminent arrival, correctly assuming that the Deputy Director would be none-too-amused to find two of his best agents partially clothed and wrapped in each other's embrace, despite the mitigating circumstances. He knew Angela was buying him enough time to do this by engaging Cullen in one of her more lengthy attempts at conversation, but now he was faced with the dilemma of deciding which of the duo to wake up first. He didn't want to startle Doctor Brennan by clapping and hollering at them both; she was in for a rude enough awakening as it was and if he made her physically jump her ribs would no doubt pay the price. But when he thought about how mad Agent Booth would be at the unwelcome interruption, especially given how little sleep he'd had, his vision was clouded with the image of a gun being pressed to his temple and he swallowed nervously.

"Booth?" The Agent's large foot was protruding from the bottom of the bedcovers, and appeared to be the one part of his body that wasn't currently interlinked with Dr Brennan's. Hodgins grasped his ankle, squeezing lightly.

"Mmprh."

"Hey dude, come on, you have to wake up." Hodgins squeezed a little tighter, fearing for his life. When no response was forthcoming, he shook Booth's leg sharply, and when disoriented brown eyes finally flew open and angrily fixed on his own, the scientist removed his hand with the aid of reflexes he didn't know he possessed.

Hodgins gave Booth a sheepish smile, and felt a distinct pang of sympathy as the FBI Agent stared at Brennan's prostrate form in surprise, his expression changing from wonderstruck delight to abject sorrow in the space of two seconds flat, as he recalled exactly how and why his partner had ended up asleep in his arms.

"Sorry about the wake up call, G-Man, but we thought you'd like to know that Cullen is on his way over here. He's in the waiting room with Angela as we speak, and I think he's come to give Sleeping Beauty the Spanish Inquisition." He glanced at Brennan, his piercing blue eyes welling with concern. "How's she doing?"

Booth's exhausted eyes flashed with anger, and he absent-mindedly began to caress the arm that was still wrapped tenderly around his torso. If he'd woken up like this under any other circumstances, God himself would have had to persuade him that he hadn't died and gone to Heaven. But the blissfulness of Bones' proximity was tempered by the knowledge of the situation which had brought it about. "How do you think she's doing, Hodgins? We've only slept for a few hours. She's not ready to do this."

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger, dude. I just wanted to give you a bit of advance warning before Cullen comes barging in here with his notebook and pen and sees you two..." Hodgins trailed off, trying to find a suitable expression. In the end he gave up, and simply gestured towards them. "Like that."

"Like what, exactly? She was upset, Hodgins, and I was comforting her. We fell asleep. There isn't anything even vaguely inappropriate about that."

Temperance chose that particular moment to emit a soft whimper, and Booth tightened his arms around her, blanching when she shifted position and her bare leg came to rest between his own.

Hodgins couldn't help but grin; in much the same way Angela would have done had she been there to see the discomfited expression on the Agent's face. Like yin and yang fused together as one, Brennan and Booth just looked so undeniably right together.

"I know, but the last thing Dr Brennan needs right now is someone questioning her professionalism. Just think about it, man, because you've got about three minutes before your boss walks through that door."

Hodgins held Booth's gaze for several moments and finally, the Agent nodded in acquiescence. The truth of the matter was that he just didn't want to let Bones go, terrified that severing the physical connection between them would give her an excuse to withdraw emotionally, too. But he knew that Brennan would be mortified if Cullen saw them like this. It was bad enough that Hodgins was hovering over the bed, gawping at them with a silly little grin on his face. Angela had clearly been a bad influence on the scientist, but Booth knew Hodgins had their best interests at heart. In their own weird little way, those Squints loved Bones almost as much as he did, and he couldn't bring himself to bear a grudge because of a perceived invasion of privacy.

"Could you give us a minute, buddy?"

"Of course." Hodgins made a big show of opening the door and glancing up and down the corridor, before turning back towards Booth and giving him the thumbs up. "The coast is clear, my friend."

"Yeah, thanks Jack." Booth rolled his eyes, before turning his attention to his partner, who was still deeply asleep in his arms. "Bones, wake up" he whispered, somewhere in the vicinity of her ear. She didn't stir, so he spoke her name again, more loudly this time, gently rubbing her shoulder in the process. A frown began to work its way across her forehead and she murmured something unintelligible, tightening her grasp on his arm.

"Hey, it's OK. I'm not going anywhere. I just need you to wake up, that's all." Reluctantly, Booth began to ease his way out of his partner's embrace, and it was only then that Brennan's eyelids fluttered open. She looked at him confusedly for a moment, taking in his nearness and the unfamiliar surroundings, and Booth felt like his heart was going to break when he saw realisation dawn on her battered face. She had started to back away from him of her own accord, and he set her down gently amongst the bed sheets, allowing the pillow to replace his shoulder. In typical fashion, an impassive mask gradually replaced her pained expression, and Booth found himself caressing her cheek, terrified that the harsh light of day was going to destroy the fragile connection they'd established since he had been forced to walk away from her yesterday afternoon. She had been so open with him last night, allowing him to hold her whilst she sobbed in his arms, confessing her fears, seeking his reassurance, and she fitted against him so perfectly he had known almost instantaneously that no one else would ever be able to replace her. He remembered the softness in her eyes as she stroked his face, telling him that his letter hadn't horrified her at all, and he had been stupid enough to hope that perhaps, when they had worked their way through this horrific ordeal - together, he could kiss her with all the passion and tenderness he had been harbouring for the last three years and she wouldn't run screaming into the night.

Now, as he stared into eyes that were entirely devoid of emotion, as he felt her pull away from his touch, it all seemed like a nostalgic, idiotic dream. She had been emotionally and physically exhausted last night, and now she was regarding him as though he had taken advantage of her in some way. It was more than apparent that she wanted her space, so he stood up, dragging his chair a good five feet away from the bed before sinking into it, rubbing his eyes and regarding her warily.

"Look, I'm sorry I had to wake you up Bones, but Hodgins just came by to warn me that…"

It turned out that he didn't need to elaborate, as there was a sharp rap on the door and Cullen had the audacity to tentatively enter the room before a response was even forthcoming.

"Doctor Brennan, Agent Booth." He nodded curtly in their direction, before pulling up a chair of his own and situating himself next to Brennan's bed.

"Look Sir, I really don't think Dr Brennan is ready for all of this right now." He saw his boss start to open his mouth in objection, and he held out his hand to ward off Cullen's response. "And please spare me the lecture on protocol. You're just going to have to wait until…"

"I can speak for myself, Booth," Brennan interjected, regarding him coldly before turning her attention to Cullen. "I presume you've come here to procure my statement?"

Cullen nodded. "Yes, Dr Brennan, you assume correctly. As per usual." He gave her a wry smile, before regarding her with concern. "But I appreciate that you've been through a lot in the last couple of days, and if you're really not feeling up to this, then…"

"I'm fine. Really, it's not a problem. If you could just excuse me for five minutes whilst I take a trip to the restroom?"

"Of course."

Brennan gingerly worked her way out of bed, ignoring Booth's concerned gaze. She thought the pain had been intense yesterday, but what she had experienced then was laughable compared to the agony chorusing through every inch of her battered physique today. At least she wasn't as unsteady on her feet; she had slept surprisingly well and felt stronger for it. Which was good, because the pain might have caused her to keel over otherwise. She locked the bathroom door behind her and slowly sank to the floor, placing her pounding head in her hands. She had been forced into a semi-conscious state this morning by the sound of familiar voices speaking in hushed tones, but she had willed her subconscious to ignore them because for some reason, she was reluctant to wake up. She was strangely at peace, enveloped in a set of arms that felt as though they had been moulded to fit around her. Funnily enough, she had been oblivious to the pain then, her concentration had been focused solely on the deft fingers tracing intimate circles across her forearm. The voices had gradually become louder, and she had voiced her protestations in the form of a barely audible whimper. Those tender arms had tightened around her reassuringly and she was, for one blissful moment, content again, but that contentment rapidly abated when she realised that the said arms were gradually retreating from her. She had opened her eyes in protest, and her heart had begun to pound erratically as she identified the owner of the appendages in question.

Then the horrific memories came flooding back, and as Seeley Booth extricated himself from her embrace and then eventually, her bed, all the remaining vestiges of happiness vanished alongside of him.

She didn't want Booth to be here right now. She didn't want him to hear what she was going to be forced to relay to Cullen. She imagined how he might react – his pity, his anger, his possible disgust. She knew, for the sake of his sanity, that he needed to know what happened to her, and she supposed that in time, she might be able to tell him, but never in any graphic detail. With Cullen, she could be objective about it, she didn't have to worry about breaking down in the face of his concern, she didn't have to worry whether his opinion of her would alter – he had never liked her much anyway. Cullen wasn't going to blame himself for the situation; she wasn't going to agonise over him feeling guilty for no good reason. Although she cringed knowing that he had probably seen the photographs documenting the physical evidence of her assault, the prospect didn't make her break out in a cold sweat like it did with Booth.

She forced herself to her feet, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was swollen and ugly, repugnant even. She wondered how Booth could bear to look at her, let alone caress the inflamed skin stretching across her cheekbone. She traced the outline of one particularly prominent bruise and realised that her hands were shaking violently. That was unacceptable; it made her look weak. She clenched the sink until her knuckles turned white and the trembling slowly abated. Her eyes were well schooled in concealing her emotions, but she checked to ensure that they hadn't lost their hardened edge. She knew Booth could read her like a book, but he had seen too much last night and she wasn't about to let that happen again. She winced when she considered how needy she must have seemed, begging him to stay with her, clutching him against her and refusing to relinquish her hold, crying like a frightened child at the prospect of having an inconsequential nightmare. Why had she needed Booth to tell her that she was safe? She knew damn well that the loathsome bastard couldn't hurt her anymore; she'd killed him with her own bare hands, for God's sake. She'd even allowed her partner to dress her, why hadn't she objected to being treated like a fragile doll? She hated clingy women, and hated herself for becoming one. If Booth had fallen in love with her, as he had claimed in his ridiculously sentimental letter, then he had fallen in love with someone who was strong and independent.

In the course of her lifetime her parents had abandoned her, her brother had walked away and left her in the care of utterly apathetic foster parents, she had been bounced around from pillar to post, no-one had loved her, nobody had cared. Her peers called her a freak, she didn't have any friends throughout high school, and her relationships had been a disaster unto themselves. There had been countless men who had run for the hills as soon as they found out she worked with dead people, then there were those who turned out to be killers themselves. Michael Stires, the professor who had once made her feel as though she was special by taking an interest in her academic advancement - as well as her sexual prowess - had turned up on her doorstep three years ago and wormed his way back into her bed. She had poured her bleeding heart out to him, telling him about the sorrow she felt for her latest victim, Maggie Schilling, who had been bound and incarcerated in a refrigerator, and he had patted her on the back when she confessed that she couldn't get the young girl's face out of her head. She had needed so desperately to feel some kind of a connection again, to feel wanted. And the next thing she knew, Michael was standing in front of a jury, questioning her professionalism and objectivity, deeming her cold and unfeeling, when he knew damn well how much she cared about the case. He had used her to gain inside information, and had thrown it back in her face in an attempt to gain the upper hand. She had let her defences down, and his betrayal had hurt her, more than anyone would ever know. Shortly afterwards, she had been held captive by a would-be murderer, her muffled screams drowned out by the sound of growling Dobermans, who were waiting none-too-patiently to devour her remains. Kenton had assured her that he would make her death as painless as possible, and sometimes she wondered whether he had actually been doing her a favour, because seeing her mother's face revolving around in thin air, her fractured skull set on a table with tissue markers protruding from every available orifice, had nearly killed what was left of her spirit. Of course, the fates hadn't finished with her yet; she still had plenty of time to discover that her father was a murderer, and that she had been living under an assumed identity since she was two years old. Now what was left of her fractured family had been processed by the penal system, and her only remaining relatives were in prison.

So, really, what was one more shock to the system?

She began to plan the basics of what she would say to Cullen so she wouldn't find herself rambling. Rambling suggested that she was emotionally frail; she wanted her account of the attack to be in chronological order, no going off on tangents, no discussion of what she had been feeling throughout her ordeal, just the simple facts. There would be no lingering pauses so she could regain control of her emotions, no trembling lips, no sharp intakes of breath. She could do this. Detachment was her forte, after all.

Suddenly, her stomach roiled and she turned on the taps to their maximum capacity, hoping the pounding water would drown out the sound of her dry heaves. She leant over the toilet, clutching her ribs, and proceeded to regurgitate a watery brown liquid. She realised she hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. And then it occurred to her that she had finally found an excuse to get Booth out of her room.

She brushed her teeth furiously, gagging on the copious amounts of mouthwash she still felt compelled to use. Then, gathering her resolve, she exited the bathroom with her head held high, turning to face her partner with a renewed sense of self-assurance.

"Booth, I'm starving, would you mind seeing if there's anything around here that resembles an edible breakfast? You know what I like."

Booth's anxious expression gradually evolved into a warm smile. "Sure, I can do that. I could do with a cup of coffee myself. Can I get you anything, Sir?"

Cullen shook his head. "No thank you, I've had my quota of caffeine for this morning."

Booth glanced at his partner, willing her to meet his eyes. "I'll be back in a second, OK, Bones?"

Brennan was getting exasperated. A second was not going to buy her enough time alone with Cullen to say what needed to be said. She wanted to scream at Booth that she didn't need a babysitter, but she forced back a biting retort and instead rested her hand on her partner's forearm. She had hurt him enough in the last twenty-four hours. "Actually, Booth, you can forget about breakfast." She glanced sideways at Cullen's watch. "It's nearly midday anyway. They should be discharging me later on this afternoon, so I can eat something then. I could really use a change of clothes, though. All I've got is what I'm wearing. Would you be able to drive back to my apartment and pick me something up? You can take Angela with you, if you want, she knows where everything is."

Booth's eyes were starting to narrow. "Bones, you do realise that it would be obvious to my six year old son that you're trying to manipulate me into leaving? Angela's perfectly capable of shoving a few garments into a bag by herself."

Brennan gave up the charade, her cheeks burning. "Fine. I don't want you to be here right now, Booth. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Well, I'm sorry Bones, but I'm staying. I'm not letting you go through this on your own."

"Booth, don't make me push you away again." Brennan regarded him warningly. "You're stifling me. If I say I don't want you to hear this, then I don't want you to hear it. I can't cope with you breathing down my neck all the time!"

Booth look devastated for a moment, and Brennan realised that her vow not to cause him any more pain had failed. Miserably. But then his expression evolved into something equally as daunting - anger. His eyes were burning as he leant towards her, barely maintaining his composure. "You weren't complaining last night, Bones."

She stared at him, stunned into silence, and felt her cheeks redden when Cullen cleared his throat in obvious discomfort.

"Get out." She spoke the words in a relatively controlled manner, but her expression was dripping with disdain. She couldn't believe he had said that out loud, Cullen's mind must have been reeling with the implications.

"Fine." Booth glared at her, refusing to feel guilty. He was tired of treating her with kid gloves when he knew she was incapable of extending the same courtesy to him. "If you won't tell me what happened to you, I can get my information from other sources. Did you bring her file with you, Sir?"

Cullen glanced at him in alarm, and seeing Dr Brennan's aghast expression, he knew his Agent was ploughing towards dangerous territory. "No, it's back at Headquarters, although I really don't think you should…"

Booth was already heading towards the door, muttering something about medical evidence.

"Booth, wait!" Brennan limped after him, wondering how, after carefully cultivating a nonchalant exterior; she could already be on the verge of tears. Her partner didn't look back, and panic overwhelmed her. Her damn hands were shaking again. "Booth!" She choked on a sob, hating herself for it, especially when it brought her partner to an abrupt standstill. He turned around and walked back towards her, regarding her warily as she hastily wiped away her tears.

"Please don't look at the file, Booth." She looked at him beseechingly, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. "Promise me?" Her small hand reached out to clench the fabric of his vest. "Please Booth, promise me that you won't."

He had never heard her beg like that, and it tore at his heartstrings. He stared at her for what felt like an eternity. It would be so easy just to give in, but he didn't like the way Temperance was toying with his emotions. It wasn't like she was doing it intentionally; she was pitifully naïve when it came to the complexities of human interaction. The very fact that she had believed her attempts to get him to leave were subtle – well, that was a testimony to how clueless she really was. But those iridescent eyes had the power to hypnotise him, and he wondered whether he had the will to deny her anything. He was under the thumb, pussy whipped, a kept man. The words 'I promise' were itching to escape from his pursed lips, irrespective of the consequences. But when had he decided to relinquish his sanity to this infuriating woman? Something inside of him snapped.

"I'm am sick to death of your bullshit, Bones. You're not fucking Wonder Woman, the bullets can't keep bouncing off of you."

Temperance looked confused. "But I haven't been shot."

"It's a metaphor, Bones. And don't tell me you don't know what that means, because I know damn well that you do." Booth became aware of the fact that he was shouting, and he lowered his voice, closing the door to Bones' room so Cullen couldn't overhear their conversation.

"I know I tease the guy mercilessly about his credentials, but I've got to say, Sweets is right. You put up this ridiculous front to try and pretend that you're impervious to pain, because you have this stupid notion that people will judge you for displaying a little human emotion every now and again - that they're going to store it away for future reference and use it against you when their patience wears thin and they decide to make a hasty departure."

Temperance opened her mouth to object, but Booth shook his head, giving her a warning look.

"I haven't finished yet, Bones. You're right, there are a lot of bastards in this world who could easily take advantage of you. God knows, I've watched you work your way through enough of them in the time that I've known you. But **I** am not one of them, Temperance." Booth gestured to himself, punctuating his statement. "**I** care about the REAL you, not the image that you insist on projecting to the outside world. Last night, you were too exhausted to put up that fucking front and I saw how much you were hurting. I held you in my arms and I felt your pain, Bones. Hell, I felt like crying for you. But I also felt honoured, because you trusted me enough to let me comfort you. I was fucking ECSTATIC that you were willing to let me try and show you how much I care. So don't you DARE try and fob me off again. Because it HURTS, Bones."

Brennan blinked up at him. Whilst the contents of Booth's letter had remained in the forefront of her subconscious, that was possibly the most impassioned speech she had ever heard her partner make in person, and the irony was that he had rendered her speechless. She gaped at him for what seemed like an eternity, until Booth gave up waiting for her to respond. Once again, he turned to leave; his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his tension.

"Where are you going?" Brennan's tone was meek, and laced with nervousness. She would rather die than look Booth in the eye after he had seen those photographs.

Once again, Booth turned around to regard her thoughtfully, only this time he held out his hand. "Give me your keys. I'm going to go and get you some clothes, and I won't be held accountable if I happen to stumble across your underwear drawer in the process." He gave her a tight smile, and her tense expression melted into a mixture of affection and relief.

"I lost my keys at the crime scene, I think they might have been retained as evidence. Angela has a spare set, though." Brennan watched as Booth started to lower his hand and, impulsively, she reached out to take it in her own. "You're right, you know. People have let me down my whole life and it's always been easier to shut down completely than to open myself up to being hurt over and over again. I try not to give anything away, because I'm scared of what people might see. Sometimes I feel so lonely, Booth, but I'm terrified of getting too attached to someone. That's kind of difficult when you're around though." Her eyes were brimming with tears, and she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him into a tender embrace. "You've never let me down, Booth. Never. And I know I'm not the easiest person to be around, so that means a lot."

Booth was touched, and had to swallow the rather prominent lump that had worked its way into his throat. "I happen to think that you're a pleasure to be around, Bones." He smiled at her engagingly. "Most of the time."

She laughed, then, that wonderful throaty sound that never failed to make him grin from ear to ear.

"See, you're the only person who can make me do that, especially under circumstances like these." Brennan's smile gradually faded, and she regarded her partner intently. "You know, despite my better judgement, I do care about you Booth."

"Aw, shucks Bones, you don't want to make a grown man cry, do you?" Booth was only half-joking and buried his face in his partner's hair so she wouldn't be able to see the moisture in his eyes. "I care about you too, Bones." He paused, and then added for affect, "A lot." He wondered how easy it would be to make his partner laugh again, and he regarded her with twinkling eyes. "In fact, lots and lots and lots… and lots."

It had the desired affect. Brennan laughed, and to his delight, actually blushed. "You know, for someone who prides himself on being a tough, no-nonsense cop, you can be as corny as hell, Booth."

Booth gave her his cheesiest grin, and although she had always maintained that his charm smile had no affect on her whatsoever, Brennan looked suitably enthralled when Cullen opened the door a few moments later, having grown tired of waiting.

"Excellent. I see you two have resolved your little domestic. Can we continue now?" Cullen rolled his eyes. For some reason, he was recalling how his daughter had forced him to ride the Big Dipper five times in a row when she was an exuberant eight year old, and he came to realise that the memory had been evoked because being around Brennan and Booth was like being on a roller coaster. Up and down, up and friggin' down.


	12. Chapter 12

**__**

Well, I've been slaving over this one all weekend - sleep is really superfluous to requirements, right? Just to warn you in advance... the opening scene is pretty heart-wrenching (apparently I have a propensity for making people cry!), but the mood lightens up considerably as the chapter progresses, so please don't be deterred! I've alluded to numerous episodes in the dialogue between Brennan and Booth, so hopefully you'll have fun spotting all the references. Many thanks to all of you who took the time to review my preceding chapter, and to those of you who have commented on the story in its entirety - I'll be getting back to you shortly. As always, all feedback is greatly appreciated, so please offer your input if you feel so inclined.

* * *

Booth pulled back into the hospital's parking lot just as Cullen was exiting the building. He couldn't believe his luck, and promptly swung into a disabled parking space in front of the automatic doors, swiftly disembarking from his SUV and sprinting after Cullen in an effort to intercept his boss before he made a hasty retreat.

"Sir?"

Cullen's head was bowed sombrely and he didn't register Booth's presence until the Agent literally caught him by the elbow. He looked up in surprise, his haggard features softening into a wry smile.

"Agent Booth, please don't tell me that you've been staking out the exit and waiting to pounce on me? Because I would consider that a woeful waste of our resources."

"No, Sir, not at all. I just happened to catch a glimpse of you whilst you were on your way out." Booth regarded him seriously, searching his boss' expression for any indication as to his partner's current state of well-being. "Did Bones tell you everything you needed to know?"

"Yes Booth, your lady scientist was very thorough, if a little abstruse. I'm flattered that she thinks I know where to find the…" Cullen flicked open his worn notebook, squinting in a bid to decipher his hurried scrawl, "Zygomatic bone, and that I have the faintest clue what the hell a mandible is, but she gave a very… purposeful… account of her attack."

"And is she OK?"

Cullen shrugged. "She's a resilient woman, Booth. She seems fine." He wasn't about to admit that Dr. Brennan had barely batted an eyelid whilst relaying the details of her horrific attack, or that he had seen sociopaths with a more impressive emotional range. Cullen had dealt with countless victims of violent crime in his lifetime. He was used to doling out words of reassurance, handing out tissues and occasionally, assuaging anger. He didn't encounter many victims who intimidated him into silence. Cullen shivered involuntarily as he recalled the look on Dr Brennan's face when he had placed a comforting hand on her forearm. Her story had moved him; despite its toneless delivery, and he had wanted to offer her his heartfelt empathy. Apparently, it wasn't welcome.

"What happened to her, Cullen?"

The Deputy Director immediately snapped out of his reverie, giving his Agent a warning look. "I think Dr Brennan has made it perfectly clear that she'll tell you the details when she's good and ready."

"I don't know if I can wait that long, Sir." Booth stared at him intently, brown eyes silently pleading with him to reconsider. "Please, Cullen, would you just look at it from my perspective for a minute? How would you feel if your wife had been attacked and I was purposely withholding information from you?"

"Why would that analogy hold any relevance in this situation? Are you trying to tell me that you and Dr Brennan are a couple, Agent Booth?"

"What? No! I meant…" Booth blanched, and stuttered out his protests, before giving up and putting his head in his hands. "She's my partner. I just… I care about her, Sir. That's all."

"Then do you think you can handle the truth, Agent Booth?"

Booth regarded his boss earnestly. He wasn't going to lie. "I can try."

Cullen nodded. "All right. Sit down." There was an unoccupied smoker's bench situated to the right of the entrance, and he gestured towards it, waiting until Booth had seated himself before engaging his colleague's unyielding attention. "OK, you've got a choice here, Agent Booth. I can give you Dr Brennan's very concise version of events, complete with all the technical jargon, or I can tell you what I think really happened out there based on what she told me this morning and the forensic evidence we've managed to accumulate so far."

"I'm surprised you even have to ask, Cullen."

"Point taken." The Deputy Director wondered where to start, feeling as though he was walking on eggshells. He had delivered a lot of bad news in his lifetime, and everyone knew that he had been on the receiving end often enough, but he still hated to see a good man dragged down. He didn't want to add to the already cumbersome burden that was bearing down on Booth's – thankfully broad - shoulders.

"As you know, Dr Brennan was cornered whilst she was on her way to your office. The attack came out of nowhere, so she didn't have time to fight back. Marks dragged her into an alleyway and pressed a rag that was soaked in chloroform against her mouth. She presumes he transported her to the crime scene in the back of his trunk."

Booth nodded impatiently. He knew that much already.

Cullen cleared his throat. This was the hard part. "Doctor Brennan estimates that she awoke within an hour and fifteen minutes. The effect of the chloroform should have been far more potent, but when she realised what was happening to her, she held her breath and avoided inhaling for as long as possible, which meant she regained consciousness well ahead of schedule. When she opened her eyes, she found herself being transported towards what she presumed was going to be a holding cell. The bastard had slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She kicked him in the gut until he released her, and he threw her to the ground. She went running for the hills, but she was too dazed to get her bearings and he caught up with her quickly."

Cullen paused, checking to see how Booth was faring. The Agent's jaw was clenched tightly and his lips were pursed into a thin line, but he nevertheless gestured for Cullen to continue.

"Marks pinned her to the floor, and she struggled for all she was worth. Dr Brennan went to great pains to emphasise that she could have easily gained the upper hand if Marks was thirty pounds lighter and she hadn't still been shaking off the effects of the chloroform." Cullen smiled, hoping to ease the mounting tension, but Booth's grave expression didn't change. "She fought like a woman possessed, Booth. There were chunks of the bastard's skin under her fingernails and when they performed the autopsy on him last night, it was obvious that she'd given him one hell of a beating. But he was just too strong. She couldn't manoeuvre her way out from underneath him. All the wriggling around was turning the sick bastard on, and she spat in his face when he started to grind against her. He wasn't amused and gave her a backhander across the cheek."

Cullen didn't like the noise that was beginning to emanate from Booth. It sounded as though he was grinding his teeth.

"Look, Booth, maybe Dr Brennan is right. I don't think you're ready to hear this yet."

"I'm fine, Cullen. Now, carry on." Booth stared at his boss intently. It was an order, not a request.

"Fine, but I'm warning you, Booth, it's not pretty." Cullen was finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with his colleague, and paused for a long time before continuing. "Marks gripped her jaw so she couldn't turn away and then he... he forced his tongue into her mouth. She's a plucky woman, Booth. She bit him, hard, and she probably would have choked on his blood if the shock hadn't sent him reeling backwards. I know she was worried about infectious diseases, but they've finished the autopsy and his blood work was fine. She doesn't have anything to worry about in that respect, Booth, so that's one weight off her shoulders."

Booth nodded, remembering that he was supposed to be grateful for small mercies. But all he could think about was how terrified Bones must have been, to do something so uncharacteristically reckless. She always fought back, but swallowing that animal's blood could have meant a life sentence for her. She must have known that, but she was desperate enough to do it anyway. It reeked of a last resort, and his heart ached for her.

"He was pretty pissed off by this point, Booth. I don't know how the hell she managed to get away from him again, but she did. She ran back towards the shack and even got her hands on one of his guns, but he caught her off guard. He knocked her senseless when he jumped down from the rafters, and she was completely out of it for a while. She can't remember for how long exactly, but it was long enough for him to..." Cullen trailed off, shaking his head.

"Long enough for him to _what_, Cullen?" Booth's words were strangled, and his heart had started to pound erratically. _God no, please no._

"Look, there was no evidence of penetration, OK, Booth? She was checked over extensively when she arrived at the hospital, and the Doctor gave her an internal examination to make sure that Marks hadn't raped her whilst she was unconscious. But I'm not going to lie to you, Booth – that was undoubtedly his intention. There's a reason why she doesn't want you to see that file. She…." Cullen shook his head, not willing to continue.

"She was molested?" Booth ground out, willing his hands to stop shaking.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Booth…"

"Where, Cullen?" Booth gripped his boss' shoulders, demanding an answer.

"She has extensive bruising, but the marks are particularly prominent on her breasts and… thighs. There was some… external damage… to her labia."

"Oh God." Booth's fists were clenched in a mixture of rage and anguish, and Cullen felt the vibrations down to his toes when the Agent leapt to his feet and levelled a devastating kick to the side of the bench.

"Booth, that's enough." Cullen stood up, grasping his colleague's forearms when he saw that the distraught Agent was going to attempt to punch the brick wall behind them. "You need to calm down." Booth fought against him, but Cullen held fast, forcing him into acquiescence. "This kind of reaction isn't going to help her, this is exactly what she's afraid of, Booth. And I know you're mad. Hell, I'm mad, and I barely even like the woman! But you have to hold it together. For her. Do you hear what I'm saying?"

Slowly, Booth began to nod. He sank back down onto the now distinctly crooked bench, looking like a defeated man. Cullen was taken aback when he saw tears streaming down the Agent's flushed cheeks, and he rested a paternal hand on Booth's tense shoulder.

"It's going to be OK. I know she's hard work, Booth, but she's a different woman when she's around you, and that speaks volumes. I saw you both in the corridor earlier. I heard her laughing. And let me tell you, after spending the longest forty-five minutes of my life in her company earlier, I wouldn't have thought her lips were capable of registering anything but contempt." Cullen gave Booth a wry smile, pleased to see the Agent's mouth quirking slightly in response.

"Now, that's more like it."

Booth swiped at his eyes, embarrassed by his untimely display of emotion. "You're not going to split us up, are you Sir? Because I swear that we're a hell of a lot more functional than this usually."

Cullen laughed out loud, shaking his head. "Agent Booth, as far as I'm concerned, this conversation never happened. Although I think the bench might beg to differ."

Booth glanced shamefacedly at the rather large dent he had inflicted on the object in question.

"Don't worry about it Booth." Cullen cleared his throat. "I'd be pretty cut up if it was my wife in there, too."

If Bones had been sitting here, Booth knew that Cullen's strategically placed comment would have completely eluded her. He, however, knew exactly what his boss was insinuating, and he met Cullen's knowing gaze without any shame.

* * *

"Booth, I asked you to bring me a change of clothes, not my entire wardrobe." Brennan glanced at the open suitcase in front of her with a mixture of exasperation and amusement, rolling her eyes at her partner. "And why have you packed my bubble bath? I was going to shower when I got home." She dug a little deeper, and her bewilderment increased. "And there's moisturiser and soap, and deodorant, too. Are you trying to tell me something, Booth?" Brennan aimed to sound light-hearted, but inwardly she was wondering whether her rigorous attempts to wash away yesterday's stench had been entirely effective.

Booth looked distinctly sheepish. "I was going to talk to you about that, Bones. You see, I was looking around your apartment – in a strictly professional sense, I wasn't snooping or anything - and I happened to notice that… well, you know, you still don't have a TV."

Brennan was staring at him suspiciously, clearly wondering how that had any relevance to her current situation.

"And I figured that you're probably not going to want to sit in front of your computer and type, or read a book, because your eye is still kind of swollen and you might strain it or something." Booth gave her an engaging smile, painfully aware of the fact that he sounded like a babbling idiot.

"And your point is?"

"Just bear with me for a minute, Bones, will you? You, um, mentioned earlier that you hadn't eaten in a while, so I was going to bring something back for you to snack on - you know, until you get a chance to eat a proper meal later on. So I looked in your kitchen cupboards, and your fridge, to see if there was anything suitable in there. But they were completely empty, Bones. You don't even have any condiments. Which frankly worries me, it really does. Are you masquerading as Old Mother Hubbard or something?"

"I don't know what that means." She looked at him blankly.

"Never mind. So I thought that maybe I could nip to your local supermarket and stock up on some groceries for you, but you're obviously in too much pain to be pottering around your kitchen and chopping things up and stuff, so - "

"Booth, I don't have a clue what you're rambling on about, but did it ever occur to you that I might just want to go home and sleep?"

He nodded vigorously. "Of course it did, Bones. But I was thinking…" He trailed off, wondering how the hell he could sell his harebrained idea to her. There was no way he could drop Brennan off at her apartment and leave her unsupervised, especially after what Cullen had told him this morning, but he didn't know whether his fiercely independent partner would be willing to let him stay. The only other viable alternative was convincing her to move in with him for a few days, and he was clearly doing a fantastic job of it so far. The last time he had seen Brennan this confused, Goodman had been trying to explain to her exactly why it was so funny that Kyle had hit the Duke with the candlestick in the crypt. _Oh well, here goes nothing._

"OK, so I went shopping a couple of days ago, which means I've got plenty of food, and you know that I have a spare room for when Parker comes to stay, so I was going to ask you whether you would, um…" Booth cleared his throat, staring at his shoes. "Whether you would maybe like to sleep in there for a few days? Just until you're back on your feet again. I'll stay out of your way, I promise. I mean, I might offer to make you dinner or something, and I'll be there if you need to take your mind off things, but you can feel free to kick me out at anytime. Did I tell you I got a new TV a little while ago? It's has a 42-inch plasma screen and it's only about ten feet away from my couch, so you won't have to…"

"Booth, if I say yes, will you stop subjecting me to your idiotic streams of consciousness?"

"Is that how an academic tells someone to shut the hell up?"

Brennan couldn't help but laugh. Booth was acting like an apprehensive teenaged boy on his first date, which was ridiculous, because they had known each other for over three years. "Yes."

"Is that a 'yes,' you want me to shut up, or 'yes,' you'll come and stay with me for a few days?"

"It's a yes to both, Booth, OK? Now can you leave me alone so I can get dressed? It turns out I have a lot more outfits to choose from than I initially anticipated."

Booth's mega-watt grin could have lit up the whole of DC during a blackout. Impulsively, he took Brennan's hand in his own, placing a gentle kiss on the underside of her palm.

Brennan just stared at him, her mouth agape. "What are you doing?"

Booth coloured slightly. "I just… I guess I didn't expect you to agree so quickly, that's all."

"Well then you'd better leave before I change my mind." Brennan gestured weakly towards the door. "Go."

Booth nodded, flashing her another beaming smile before he finally exited the room. For a moment, Brennan was frozen in place, staring at her hand with an expression of barely concealed wonderment. She was too exhausted to analyse her motives for agreeing to Booth's proposition, because he was right, it was completely out of character for her to willingly sacrifice her independence. Only this morning, she had vowed with utmost conviction to maintain her distance from Booth at all costs, and now she had to wonder how the hell her partner had managed to work his way past her defences again. She should be furious with herself, it was dangerous to allow someone to monopolise her emotions like this. When had she ever allowed someone's powers of persuasion to undermine her better judgement? And why was it so very easy to say 'yes' to Booth, when she had never experienced problems saying 'no' to anyone else? Maybe it was because, where her partner was concerned; it didn't feel like she was sacrificing her autonomy. When she reached out to Booth, she simply felt less hollow, like he could somehow bridge the void between her heart and her head and help to heal her pain. Her eyes fell on the letter that was still resting on her bedside table, a heart-warming reminder that there _was_ someone in this soulless world who genuinely cared for her well-being, someone who loved her despite her numerous flaws. And for the first time in her life, she experienced a fleeting sense of providence, because if there was anyone in this world who she wanted to feel that way about her, it was Seeley Booth.

Placing her partner's letter inside one of the suitcase's many compartments, making sure it wasn't in danger of being crumpled, Brennan pulled out her most worn pair of jogging pants. She usually prided herself on being well presented; the outfits she wore beneath her starched blue lab coat fitted well and were fashionable, if somewhat unorthodox. Booth, however, had packed an assortment of her most casual clothing, items she usually only reserved for the gym or her karate classes. Baggy T-shirts, capacious pants, winter cardigans, over-sized sweatshirts. All of them had been hand picked to ensure her comfort, and she smiled softly.

Gingerly, she stepped into her jogging pants, sucking in a sharp breath when she was forced to lean forwards to pull them up around her waist. Then, she inched Booth's sweatshirt over her head, laying it over the nearby chair, and shrugged her way out of the hospital gown, shivering violently. The pain was almost unbearable, and her eyes were beginning to water with the effort of her exertions. She had to smile in embarrassment, though, when she saw that Booth had indeed encountered the contents of her underwear drawer. The embarrassment rapidly turned to amusement when she realised that her partner had been far too chivalrous to rifle through the garments – it was apparent that Booth had simply pulled the drawer off its runners and tipped the contents into her suitcase. She contemplated whether or not to don a bra, but quickly decided that it would feel too constrictive and would probably chafe against her broken skin. Finally, she started to reach for one of her Northwestern jerseys, but something stopped her. Instead, she turned back to the chair, lightly fingering Booth's sweatshirt. It was still warm, and she told herself that was why she suddenly felt compelled to put it back on again.

* * *

"Are you OK?" Booth opened the passenger side door, regarding his partner with evident concern. He vowed to write a strongly worded letter to the morons in charge of highway maintenance, knowing that Bones had felt every jarring defect in the surface of the road. He had driven at the pace of a snail, ignoring the plethora of angry protests and beeping horns, but it hadn't made much difference. Temperance had barely spoken a word since they left the hospital.

"I'm fine, Booth. Please stop fussing." Brennan loosened her seatbelt, wiping away the sheen of sweat that had begun to pool on her furrowed brow. Her gritted teeth, however, told a different story. She steeled herself, preparing to disembark from the SUV. She had never noticed how high up it was before.

"Bones." Booth placed a hand on her knee, willing her to look at him. "Let me help."

Slowly, Temperance began to nod, and Booth slipped a strong arm beneath her knees, wrapping his other arm securely around her waist. Her hands came to rest around the nape of his neck, fingers interlinking, and he lifted her effortlessly out of the vehicle, setting her down gently on the sidewalk.

"Come on, lean on me. We'll take the elevator."

Booth guided his flagging partner into his apartment complex and Bones obligingly leant against him, her eyelids already beginning to droop. They rode the elevator in silence, save for the tiny groan that escaped from Brennan's lips when the aged mechanism shuddered to a standstill. Fumbling with his keys, Booth somehow managed to open his door with one hand, and he steered Brennan straight towards his bedroom, gesturing for her to lie down.

Brennan, even in a semi-narcoleptic state, was not easily fooled. "This is your room, Booth, not Parker's."

Booth plumped up his pillows, mentally calculating the last time he had laundered his bed linen. _Recently - good_. "I know, Bones, but Parker's bed is kind of small so I figured you'd be more comfortable with a king-sized bed at your disposal. Then you can toss and turn without worrying about falling out of bed and doing yourself more damage."

"I'm not kicking you out of your own bedroom, Booth."

"Hey, I'm a willing evacuee. There was no coercion required. And you see that door over there?" Booth strode across the expanse of his tastefully decorated bedroom, pulling open the door in question and revealing an en-suite facility. "There's a bath _and_ a shower, as well as the usual amenities. So you even get your very own washroom, Bones, at no extra cost."

"You want me to pay you to let me stay here?" Brennan started to laugh at the horrified expression on Booth's face, and promptly winced at the pain it incurred. "Oh, come on, Booth, do you really think I'm that dense? I'm kidding!"

Booth regarded his partner seriously for a moment, and then eased himself onto the bed besides her. "Budge over, Bones. I think I'm going to have to lie down for a minute to recuperate. Goodman was right about your steep learning curve. Your comedic repertoire just keeps on expanding. I mean, first it's "Hey is for horses," and now you're cracking jokes left, right and centre! And just for future reference, even Parker doesn't think the bridal suite thing is funny anymore. Ow." Booth clutched his stomach, wondering how a severely injured woman could still pack such a brutal punch.

Brennan regarded her partner with twinkling eyes. Booth was laughing convulsively, and she could see the tension draining out of him in the process. She wanted to join in, despite the ramifications for her ribs, but instead she found herself stifling a yawn.

"Come on, Bones, you're tired. Go to sleep." Booth pulled back the bedcovers for her, and she obligingly slipped between the sheets, sinking into the comfortable mattress with a contented sigh. As her head made contact with Booth's pillow, she inhaled the lingering scent of his intoxicating aftershave. It was strangely comforting, and any remaining vestiges of doubt about why exactly she had elected to stay with her partner rapidly began to vanish. She allowed her eyelids to flutter closed, but she opened them abruptly when she felt Booth sit up and gingerly ease himself off the bed.

"Booth, aren't you tired, too?"

Booth regarded her quizzically. "Yeah, I'm pretty whacked. Why?"

"Well, this is your bed Booth. You can stay, if you want?"

"Actually, I was planning on unpacking your stuff and making a start on some dinner." Booth saw the barely disguised look of disappointment cross his partner's face, and he smiled softly. "But I guess that can wait." He climbed into bed, careful not to jog the mattress too much. "Just promise me something, first, Bones? If you wake up before me and suddenly decide that I'm lying a little too close for comfort, promise me that you're not going to go running out of that door?" Booth realised he was discomfortingly close to sounding clingy, and decided to temper his earnest plea with a little humour. "I mean, you can punch me if you like, or push me off the side of the bed, but please don't run away."

"I don't really think I'm in a position to run anywhere at the moment, Booth." Her partner's rare bout of insecurity touched her, and Temperance felt an overwhelming surge of affection for him. How could Booth embody so many alpha males attributes, and yet still manage to sound like a sentimental fool? He was lying a couple of feet away from her, purposely keeping his distance, allowing her to have her space, and all she wanted to do was reach out to him. She fumbled under the bedcovers until she successfully located Booth's hand, and she caressed the smooth skin residing there until her partner gently linked his fingers through her own. She smiled softly, and found an answering contentment in Booth's tender expression. They fit together perfectly.

* * *

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty." Booth was slaving over a hot stove when his partner emerged from his bedroom several hours later, and he gave her a warm smile as she limped towards him, peering over his shoulder.

"I didn't know you could cook, Booth." She studied the concoction simmering on the stove curiously. "It smells good. What is it?"

Booth laughed. "I'm making fajitas. The tortillas are in the oven and I just chopped up some vegetables..." He glanced into the abyss of the frying pan. "See, there's an onion floating around, and a couple of pieces of pepper. I think there's a tomato or two lurking in there somewhere, and some baby sweetcorn, too. I nipped out whilst you were asleep to get some tofu, and the sauce came straight from a jar because there was no way I was going to attempt to make my own. But I guess it's not going very well if you can't even tell what it is."

"Well, I only have one good eye."

Booth chuckled again, but promptly sobered up as he studied his partner's bruised countenance. Her eye wasn't as swollen as it had been yesterday, and she looked better for getting several hours of uninterrupted sleep, but he knew it was going to be a long time before her injuries healed. He ran his thumb across her cheekbone and she pulled away, evading his gaze.

"I'm pretty thirsty, Booth. Can I grab a glass of water?"

"Sure. But I'll get it for you, Bones. You should sit down. The grand unveiling isn't happening for another half an hour or so. Go and introduce yourself to my TV or something."

"There were a lot of imperatives in that sentence, Booth." Temperance frowned, but her partner was right, she was in too much pain to be on her feet for extended periods of time. "I do want to see this infamous TV of yours, though." Brennan gave him a small smile of defeat, slowly working her way towards the lounge. Her mouth nearly hit the floor when she saw the monolithic, flat screen contraption that was mounted on the wall directly opposite Booth's couch. "What happened to only having enough salary for food and rent, Booth? Or have you been lying to me all this time?"

Brennan's comment was intended to be light-hearted, but the sudden defensiveness in Booth's posture was prominent enough even for her to ascertain. Her partner handed her a glass of water, folding his arms tightly across his chest.

"Well, I always set aside what little I can for Parker's college fund, but I got a performance bonus a couple of months ago, and one of my buddies is an Assistant Manager in an electrical store downtown. He told me he could get me a 30 per cent discount on one of these babies, and an interest free payment plan that stretches over the course of a year, and I guess I just couldn't resist after that. I mean, Parker's only six, right? Although in hindsight, it was a pretty reckless thing to do. Do you think it's too much?"

Brennan frowned. Booth's apartment was nice, but markedly bare. The TV was the only visible extravagance she had encountered up until now and, given that she could see virtually every other room from her current vantage point, she knew her partner wasn't prone to treating himself. For some reason, it pained her to think that Booth had to save for years to acquire what she could have instantaneously, if she so desired. If only she'd known how much he wanted the damn TV, she would have bought it for him herself - without the interest free payment plan. Instinctively, she reached out to lay a hand on her partner's forearm.

"Booth, you really shouldn't feel guilty. You selflessly endanger your life every single day to help people that you've never even met before – and the sad thing is that most of them would never consider doing the same for you if the situation was reversed. But you never, ever, seek any glory for it. So I think you deserve a reward every now and again. And yes, the TV's impressive, but I think you've earned it, don't you?"

Booth was taken aback by his partner's thoughtful words. He smiled at her warmly, trying to convey his gratitude. "Yeah, I guess I have. Thanks Bones."

"You're welcome. Now, are you going to show me how it works or are you going to leave me to fend for myself?"

Booth grinned, his enthusiasm back with a vengeance. He steered Brennan towards the couch, gathering up the cushions and arranging them around her until she indicated that she was comfortable. Then he flicked on the TV and placed a grey rectangular device in her lap. "OK, Bones, this little contraption here is called a remote control. You use it to change channels, see?" He flicked a button and Temperance was about to punch him for being so patronising when her attention was promptly diverted elsewhere.

"_Well… Kyle's Mom's a bitch, she's a big fat bitch, she's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world. She's a stupid bitch, if there ever was a bitch, she's a bitch to all the boys and girls!"_

Temperance stared at the plump, foul-mouthed and distinctly childlike cartoon character with an expression of abject horror on her face. "My God, Booth, do you let Parker watch this?"

Booth began to howl with laughter.

"What? Why are you laughing? It's not funny. It's obscene!"

Booth was rolling around on the floor, tears streaming down his face. Temperance's lips started to twitch, and when her eyes roved back to the television screen, only to discover that Cartman was now performing his rendition of the vulgar song in several different languages, complete with all the relevant cultural indicators, she too, couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh my God, Bones." Booth was gasping for breath, and his attempts to sit back up were repeatedly vanquished by his spasming stomach muscles.

"OK, calm down Booth. It's really not that funny. Do you think that there might be something a little more - educational - for me to watch, or is this what constitutes entertainment nowadays?"

"Bones, you can entertain me without even trying." He swiped at his eyes. "Do you remember when I told you that you've got more in common with my grandmother than your peer group? Well, you're really not helping your case right now!" Booth finally got his laughter under control, and he regarded his partner with twinkling eyes. "I'll have you know that this happens to be one of my all time favourite movies."

"Well, I'm disappointed, Booth, I really am." Brennan rolled her eyes at her partner, who clutched his chest as though she had physically wounded him, before breaking into renewed peals of laughter.

"Surely you must have heard of 'South Park' before, Bones? The merchandise is everywhere. It's a TV series. And no, I don't think the creators intended for it to be seen by children. It's a… political satire." Booth was laughing hysterically again, wondering how Brennan would react when she saw Saddam Hussein in bed with Satan. He couldn't wait to tell Hodgins and Angela about his partner's latest encounter with popular culture.

"Booth, I think you've left the dinner unattended for long enough, don't you?"

Booth could take a hint, and forced himself to regain his composure. Impulsively, he leant towards his partner, and she could feel him smiling against her forehead when he placed his soft lips on her brow. He kissed her, tenderly, and she felt a fluttering in her stomach that wasn't entirely attributable to hunger pangs.

"OK Bones, let's eat. I should probably warn you in advance, though. I'll be devastated if you don't eat every single morsel of this masterpiece I've concocted, because I never thought I'd be making a trip to my local store to buy freakin' tofu. And remind me again how a woman who has a hunting licence in – what was it? – three states, suddenly decides to become a vegetarian? What do you do, shoot them with blanks?"

Brennan had just taken a rather large gulp of her iced water and tried desperately hard to suppress the laugh that bubbled up inside of her. She failed, miserably, and the next thing she knew the contents of her mouth had been projected over Booth's beige carpet. "Booth, I'm so sorry, that was undignified. Do you have any paper towels? I'll clean it up." She stood up, far too quickly, and tried to disguise the fact that her exertions had left her in agony.

Booth knew her too well, though, and he placed his hands on her shoulders, gently easing her back into a sitting position. "Relax. It's only water. It'll dry. Besides, it's so good to see you smile that I wouldn't have given a damn, even if it was red wine." Booth cringed, shaking his head. "Did that sound as cheesy as I think it did?"

"I think this is one of those occasions where I'm supposed to say 'no comment.'" Brennan laughed again, but her expression quickly became perturbed when she realised that, when taken out of context, this was the happiest she had felt in a long time. "Booth, why I am laughing? Am I going crazy? Sweets says I don't deal with things properly, that I over-rationalise and compartmentalise. Maybe he's right. Maybe I haven't acknowledged what's happened to me." The light in Brennan's eyes was gradually fading, her mirth giving way to distress. "Do you think I'm in denial, Booth? I mean, I went through all the details with Cullen earlier, but that doesn't mean to say that I've processed them myself, right?"

Brennan heaved an anguished sigh, biting back a fresh onslaught of tears, and Booth sank down next to her, relieved when she sought out his embrace of her own accord.

"Last night I felt like I was coming to terms with everything, but then when I woke up this morning, I just felt completely numb. But now…" She trailed off, shaking her head in genuine bewilderment. "Booth, why do I feel like I'm enjoying myself? It's wrong."

"No, it's not wrong, Bones." Booth wiped away the lone tear that was trickling down his partner's cheek. "It would have been wrong if you had insisted on going home to an empty apartment. It would have been wrong for you to lock the door behind you and realise that there wasn't a single thing to distract you from reliving the nightmare, over and over again. Curling up in bed without bothering to eat, or drink, crying yourself to sleep knowing that there isn't going to be anyone there to comfort you when you wake up. That's wrong, Bones. Don't you get it?" He disentangled himself from her embrace, opting instead to cup her chin in his hands, forcing those tortured azure eyes to meet his own. "That's precisely what I'm here for. To help you forget."

A small smile graced Brennan's features and then to Booth's utmost surprise, she started to laugh again.

"Are you sure it's not the other way around, Booth? Because your dinner isn't smelling quite so appetising anymore."

"Oh shit." Booth sprinted towards the kitchen, examining the woeful remains of his endeavours with a wry smile. Acrid smoke had just begun to pour from the frying pan, and he grabbed a towel, lifting it away from the stove and setting it on the counter. If he had been back in survival training, hacking apart yams with a machete, he would have considered it partially salvageable. "I hope you like your vegetables chargrilled, Bones."

Temperance couldn't resist hefting herself off the couch to survey the damage. Seeing her partner's forlorn expression, she tried desperately hard to bite back a grin. "I think I'm officially enjoying myself again, Booth."

"Oh, you think it's funny, do you?"

Temperance was leaning against the sideboard, and Booth came to stand in front of her, resting his hands on the counter and effectively trapping her in place. Her eyes were shining with mirth, and she was looking at him with an expression of such obvious affection that for once, he knew it wasn't just wishful thinking on his part. It would have been so very easy just to lean forward and kiss her, but his eyes flickered over her ravaged lips and the mere thought of causing her pain stopped him dead in his tracks. Instead, he gently tweaked her nose.

"Well laugh it up, Bones, because it's your turn to pay for takeout."

Brennan stared at him for the longest time, unable to think of an adequate retort. Booth had been holding her in his arms only moments ago, so why was she suddenly hyperaware of his proximity? It was completely irrational. Maybe it was simply the way he was looking at her. The tenderness was still there, but it was tinged with something else, something that made her feel disconcerted, but not in a bad way.

"I'm sorry, Booth," She eventually ground out. "That was my fault. I shouldn't have distracted you like that."

Booth shook his head, and the hands that had been positioned on either side of her waist now came to rest on her shoulders, effectively breaking the spell.

"You can talk to me about anything, anytime, OK Bones?"

"Except sex."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't like to talk about sex."

Booth turned a dark shade of crimson and Brennan laughed triumphantly, knowing she had regained the upper hand.

"See."

"I don't know why… I don't see how… why would you even say that, Bones?"

She didn't even bother to grace him with a response.

"Where do you keep your takeout menus, Booth? I'm starving."

It was going to be a long few days.


	13. Chapter 13

**_Whilst I relished every moment of penning the far 'fluffier' preceding chapter - thank you for your feedback, incidentally - I'm afraid this update is what you might like to call 'rife' with angst. Things get pretty raw, even by my standards, as I've delved a lot more deeply into Brennan's damaged psyche. I think the events that unfold are vital in terms of character development, but I am actually going to give you a tissue warning this time (as in, grab some at your earliest convenience LOL)! Suffice it to say, however, that the conclusion is more than worth the blood, sweat and tears that I poured into it, and there is definitely a light at the end of this very dark tunnel. Reviews make my day! _**

* * *

Fatigue overwhelmed Brennan long before she allowed herself to succumb to it. Booth had been so attentive this evening and his engaging company had saved her from wallowing in solitude – and he was right, that was undoubtedly a good thing. The unanticipated laughter had been surprisingly therapeutic and it was so very tempting to get lost in the moment, to gaze into Booth's soulful brown eyes and allow herself to believe that she could recapture some semblance of normality. But then there would be a lull in the conversation, or she would catch him looking at her with too much concern, and suddenly it would occur to her that whilst it was hard to forget, it was so painfully easy to remember.

She had lapsed into silence more and more frequently as the hours progressed. To his credit, Booth hadn't forced the issue; he hadn't insisted on asking her what she was thinking about or, worse still, what she was feeling. At first she had been touched that he was willing to simply let her be, that he understood her well enough to know that she had no desire to bare her soul. But Temperance had eventually grown self-conscious of the intensity in her partner's penetrating gaze, and tired of his awkward fidgeting. Booth's presence was no longer soothing her; it was setting her on edge.

When she had eventually excused herself to go to bed, her partner had done all but tuck her in. Booth had helped her to her feet and led her to the washroom, fetched her a fluffy towel and handed her a pair of pyjamas. Then he had watched her climb cautiously into bed, lingering in the door frame for no viable reason, using every inane excuse he could think of not to leave her unattended – did she want a glass of water, would she like him to leave the light on in the hall? She wasn't completely dense; she knew her partner had ulterior motives. Booth was clearly hoping that she would ask him not to leave, that she would confess her fears so he could chase away her demons. And whilst she couldn't deny that being wrapped in Booth's arms held a certain appeal; and that she derived a sense of comfort from his embrace, Temperance Brennan was a big girl, and she resented being treated like a child who'd had an unfortunate encounter with the Bogeyman. So, as she led in the darkened room with nothing but empty space alongside of her, she attempted to convince herself that her dreamscape couldn't possibly hold more horrors than what she had already endured in reality. She was a survivor, after all, not a victim.

* * *

Two hours later, Brennan sat bolt upright in bed, and pressed a pillow to her mouth to muffle her screams. She was shaking violently, and was so drenched in sweat that for one horrifying moment she thought she had wet herself. Billy Marks' leering face was omnipresent, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories of his unrelenting brutality to subside. Rationality may have dominated her waking hours, but she had evidently underestimated the power of her subconscious, because her dreams were willing to take as many merciless liberties as they liked.

In the parallel universe of her innermost fears, there had been no gun hanging from her assailant's back pocket - she had lost her ticket to freedom - and Marks had managed to fulfil all of his warped desires. Over and over again. She had been screaming for Booth as the odious monster pounded into her, his bloody mouth twisted into a maniacal grin. Droplets of his foul-smelling perspiration burned her cheeks, mingling with futile tears before trickling down her throat, making her gag convulsively. Her insides were tense and constricting with terror as he tore his way through them, and she pleaded for her life, searching for the barest hint of contrition in his twisted features. As she looked up at him with imploring eyes, the continuous stream of blood pouring from her assailant's mouth slowly began to ebb, and his ensuing laugh was tinged with malice. He wiggled his tongue at her suggestively, and soon he was wreaking his revenge for her earlier misdemeanour, sinking his teeth into her breasts like a vulture feeding on a carcass.

Now, Brennan retched, and threw back the covers, making her way towards the bathroom as quickly as her aching limbs would allow her to. She fumbled for the light switch, barely reaching the lavatory in time to release the contents of her sickened stomach. She knelt besides the washbasin for what felt like hours, willing her racing pulse to regain something resembling a normal rhythm. Then, she crawled over to the bath, pressing the stopper into the plughole and turning on the hot tap to its maximum capacity. She fervently willed the sound of the pounding water not to wake her partner, and poured in an ample dollop of the bubble bath that Booth had unpacked earlier on that evening, along with the rest of her toiletries. She swirled it around with as much energy as she could muster, watching the liquid froth with relief. If the bubbles were dense enough, she wouldn't have to look at the wounds that bastard had inflicted on her once blemish-free body. She hastily wiped away the tears that were streaming down her cheeks, forcing herself to focus on the familiar fragrance that was gradually permeating the chilly air.

Getting into the steaming bath was difficult, but undoubtedly worth the effort. Booth's tub was larger than the standard sized version, and she was grateful for the extra space. She stretched out her throbbing limbs, and although the heat initially felt searing, she soon adjusted to the change in temperature and let the warmth soothe her into a state of relative calm. She took several cleansing breaths and closed her eyes experimentally, relieved when all she saw was darkness. Billy Marks had been banished, for now. The only problem was she didn't know how long it would take for him to make his inevitable reappearance.

* * *

It was 3.24am when Booth was inexplicably wrenched from a restless sleep, an uneasy sensation clawing at the pit of his stomach. Adrenalin began to chorus through his veins when he recognised the sound of his boiler rumbling into use. The taps were left running for what seemed like an eternity, and he held his breath, ready to spring into action if Bones emitted so much as a whimper. He strained to hear over the rhythm of his pounding heart, and slowly began to realise that his partner was preparing an impromptu bath. He didn't even want to contemplate what had provoked her into doing so. It took all of his willpower not to call out to her, but he remembered the look on Brennan's face when she had bid him goodnight and how close her tolerance threshold was to snapping. Bones had always valued her personal space, even before it had been so horrifically violated, and Booth could easily decipher when his ministrations had crossed that line, evolving from endearing to exasperating in eight easy steps. Her irritation had been abundantly apparent when she had practically snatched the proffered towel out of his hands earlier on that evening. He had known then that his chances of being permitted to share the bed with her, to hold her until she fell asleep, were minimal. Still, it hadn't stopped him from hoping and, when Bones had finally dropped the pretence of civility and told him to close the door on his way out, it had hurt. As much as it pained him to walk away, it was infinitely preferable to being pushed.

Now, he forced himself to swallow his agitation and gradually regain control of his laboured breathing, reasoning that if Bones really needed him, she would seek him out, as she had at the hospital last night. It took a supreme amount of effort to close his eyes again, and the clock's hand had rotated 270 degrees before he reached the brink of sleep. Ten minutes later, a stomach-churning thud and muffled gasp reverberated around the apartment and Booth was on his feet within a matter of seconds. He practically vaulted over the bed in his haste to reach the en-suite bathroom, cursing himself for not checking on his partner when he undoubtedly should have.

"Bones! What the hell's going on? Are you OK in there?" Booth's hand was already on the door handle and he would have had no qualms about unceremoniously bursting into the room if Temperance's reply hadn't sounded so pleading.

"Don't come in, Booth. Please. I'm fine."

Her voice, however, was weaker than usual and tinged with what he could only presume was pain.

"You're lying to me, Bones. I heard you fall." Booth inched the door open slightly, but was again stopped in his tracks by the uncharacteristic desperation in his partner's tone.

"BOOTH! If you come in here, I will never forgive you."

She was audibly crying now, and gauging from the tremulous quality of her tone, shivering, too.

"Fine, Bones, I'll make you a deal. I won't come in, if you come out. Right now."

There wasn't the faintest indication of movement on the other side of the door, and his command was greeted with silence. Booth's anxiety increased tenfold.

"Right, that's it, Temperance. You had your chance."

He swung open the door, and his chest constricted when he saw his naked partner sprawled across the floor, clutching her ribs. She was still dripping wet, and had evidently slipped whilst attempting to extricate herself from the bathtub. He promptly averted his gaze, resolutely ignoring her nudity as he reached for his bathrobe, which was still hanging on the back of the door. Grabbing a nearby towel, he tentatively inched towards Brennan, studiously keeping his head turned in the opposite direction.

"Here." He blindly handed her the large towel and once again, she snatched it from his grasp.

When he was sure that she had managed to position it over her prostrate frame, he turned around to survey the situation, trying to ignore the hostility in his partner's glare.

"What happened, Temperance?"

"Why don't you use your powers of deduction, Booth? I would have thought that much was obvious." She stared up at him defiantly and not for the first time, he found himself taken aback by the extent of this woman's pride.

"And are you going to tell me why exactly you felt the need to take a bath at this godforsaken time of morning?"

Temperance's fatigued features suddenly drained of colour, and her eyes roved towards the ceiling, no longer quite so keen to burn holes into his own.

Booth knelt down besides her, still clutching his bathrobe. "Bones, you've got nothing to be ashamed of. You know that, right?"

Temperance had already pulled the towel up to her collarbone, but now she yanked it higher still, settling it beneath her chin. "Just get out, Booth."

"Bones, I'm not leaving you until you're back in that bed." He examined his partner intently, wondering how to manoeuvre her into a standing position without enhancing her mortification. "I know you can't get up on your own, so how do you want me to do this?"

Temperance recognised the truth in his words and knew she was going to have to relent eventually. She sighed, tucking the towel firmly under her armpits as Booth leant towards her. She wrapped her arms around his neck in a vice-like grip, to prove that she wasn't as helpless as he was currently making her feel, simultaneously willing the towel not to slip away and cause her more indignity in the process.

"Fine. Help me sit up."

He obliged, using his own body weight to gently ease her into a sitting position. Though she was completely covered from the front, Brennan's back was still bare, and she flinched when Booth's hand came to rest against her naked skin in a supportive embrace. Booth could feel her shivering against him, and he was loath to let her go, but Brennan pulled away as abruptly as she was able to.

"Turn around whilst I dry myself, and then you can help me back to the bedroom."

Her partner immediately obliged, gazing at the door intently, and she found herself resenting his never-ending supply of compassion.

"I bet you're enjoying every moment of this, aren't you, Booth?" She taunted, wincing as she ran the towel over her bruised limbs. The fluff felt like it was sticking to the stark abrasions that ran across her chest, but she refused to look down and survey the damage. "I bet you're getting a real sense of satisfaction from playing the knight in shining armour. And I just keep on indulging you, don't I? The perpetual damsel in distress." Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, but as she watched her partner's back stiffen - heard his sharp intake of breath as he bit back a scathing retort, she felt inexplicably guilty.

"I'm ready now."

Slowly, Booth turned around, and Temperance could see the anger and the hurt swimming in his expressive brown eyes. He knelt down next to her again and this time, when she wrapped her arms around him, she did so with as much tenderness as she could muster. He lifted her to her feet and she clung to him for a moment, but he backed away as soon as she had regained her equilibrium.

"I think I should take you back to the hospital."

Temperance shook her head in protest. "No, I didn't fall that hard, the impact just winded me for a moment, that's all. My ribs took some of the strain, but I don't think I damaged them any more than… than they are already." She clutched the towel to her, surprised when Booth placed a gentle finger on the underside of her chin, forcing her to maintain eye contact with him.

"Look at me."

He held her gaze steadily as he prised her fingers away from the towel, letting it drop to the floor. Brennan stared at him in shock for a moment, but his eyes didn't flicker as he brought his bathrobe to rest around her shoulders, allowing the thick, downy material to engulf her slender frame. He gently clasped her wrists, easing her arms into the capacious sleeves, and she had to hold back a gasp when he wrapped the material around her front, his fingers inadvertently brushing against her bare stomach in the process. Finally, he tied the belt in a loose knot and only then did his gaze begin to falter, as if he suddenly realised just how intimate the moment had been.

"I had a nightmare," Brennan suddenly volunteered, feeling obliged to atone for her antagonistic attitude.

"Oh." Booth instantly recognised the need to tread with caution. His first instinct was to enquire why Bones hadn't sought him out in the aftermath, but he quelled the urge in favour of asking, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I…" Temperance hesitated, wringing her hands with barely concealed distress. Her eyes fixed on his, and they were teeming with torment. "Let's just say things didn't exactly turn out the way they were supposed to." She swallowed audibly, choking on a sob. "Well, not for me, anyway. There was no way out of there, Booth. He pinned me down and I couldn't move. He… he…." She shook her head violently, swiping away the tears that were now streaming down her cheeks. "I just needed a bath, OK?"

Booth nodded, his own eyes brimming with empathy. "I know. You don't have to explain it to me, Bones. I know what you went through out there."

His words were undoubtedly intended to be sympathetic, but a different emotion entirely was beginning to thrum through Brennan's veins. She shot her partner a look that made his blood run cold.

"You know what I went through?" Brennan laughed, somewhat hysterically. "You don't have the faintest fucking clue what I went through, Booth. You weren't _there_." She hadn't meant for it to sound like an accusation, but she saw a flicker of pain cross his features, obliterating the pity that had previously resided there. _Good._

"I _tried_, Temperance. I did everything I could." Booth's voice was strangled, and he was gazing at her with imploring eyes. Begging for forgiveness.

"Well, that means nothing to me right now, Booth."

It was possibly the cruellest thing she had ever said to him, but still, he couldn't bring himself to walk away. "Listen, Bones. I know you think I'm completely oblivious to the bigger picture here, but there's something I need to tell you. …" He trailed off, wondering whether he should continue. He knew how much Brennan valued honesty, and hated deceit, so he forced himself to make what was destined to be a reckless revelation. "Earlier on, when I was coming back into the hospital, I ran into Cullen and he… we…"

"You what, Booth?" Temperance was spitting venom now. "You compared case notes? Billy Marks had the audacity to piss on your territory, and you wanted to find out precisely where it had been defiled, right? Well, I'll tell you Booth. He didn't leave a spot untouched. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Booth began to shake his head vehemently. Temperance was drawing closer and closer to him, staring at him with such unbridled anger he instinctively recoiled.

"Because I can give you all the gory details, Booth, if that's what you need to be able to move on. I can tell you how he stuck his tongue down my throat until I couldn't breathe. That he raped my mouth until I had to sink my teeth into his tongue for some sense of reprieve. As you've probably gathered by now, he wasn't exactly gentle when he made the executive decision to maul my breasts until I was physically sick. Is that what you wanted to know, Booth? Is that why you burst in here earlier, so you could see the evidence for yourself?"

Seeing her like this was killing him. He had never expected to witness his partner losing her composure in such an all-consuming fit of rage; there was nothing but raw emotion emanating from her and its intensity was intimidating. The insufferable things pouring from Bones' mouth were not carefully considered; for the first time in her life Temperance Brennan was speaking from the heart and not taking the consequences into account. And apparently, she hated him. "Bones, stop it. Please."

"Oh come on, Booth, I'm just getting started. I thought that maybe you'd like a blow by blow account of what it was like to wake up and find him ripping off my clothes, how I felt when he yanked down my jeans and shoved his hand between my legs. I mean, of course that was preferable to the sensation of him grinding against my stomach and pressing his cock between my thighs, but given the choice, I wouldn't really like to repeat any of those experiences." She took a deep breath, willing her heart to stop pounding so erratically. "Because, Booth, cold and unfeeling bitch though I may occasionally be, it was still kind of hard for me not to react until he finally turned his back and…" Suddenly, Temperance burst into tears, pointing an accusatory finger at her partner. "And you… he was on top of me for hours, Booth, and I called your name over and over again. But you didn't answer. You didn't come."

She was sobbing convulsively now, and tears began streaming down Booth's cheeks as he reached out to her, making one last desperate attempt to connect. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, but she wrenched herself away from his grasp with a strength he wouldn't have thought it possible for her to possess. He tried again and again, and each time she fought to free herself, until eventually he stumbled backwards from the impact of one particularly harsh defensive manoeuvre.

Temperance hadn't been thinking when she launched her fist in the general direction of her partner's face, but now she watched in consternation as her blow sent Booth reeling towards the door. Within a matter of seconds, he was cradling his face with both of his hands, and her horror intensified when she saw blood beginning to seep through his fingers, forming an ever-expanding puddle on the floor. She felt as though she was emerging from a trance as she took in the hurt and disbelief lingering amidst her partner's stunned expression, but as she instinctively moved towards him, laying her hands over his own, he recoiled sharply.

"Don't fucking touch me."

Tears were still streaming down Brennan's cheeks, but they were no longer laced with anger. She was devastated, and when she began to replay some of the unforgivably spiteful things she had said to Booth in the last fifteen minutes, the guilt was almost paralysing. Booth had been so good to her, and it was painfully apparent that she just didn't deserve him.

"Booth, I'm so sorry." Her tone was uncharacteristically meek, but couldn't have been more sincere. "Please believe me. I'm so sorry."

Booth yanked the towel from the floor, watching with a vague sense of alarm as the pristine whiteness became marred by crimson red. She had given him the 'Oliver Laurier treatment', and had probably broken his fucking nose in the process. He would never understand this crazy, clueless woman, who was aghast at the thought of causing him physical injury, but apparently oblivious to the fact that her emotional blows had hurt him just as fucking much. Everything she had uttered this morning had been purposely engineered to hurt him, and now she thought it could all be forgotten with one simple word of contrition. Seeley Booth may have fantasised about his partner's hands touching him for several years, but as her fingers gently caressed his cheek, it took all of his willpower not to crush them. He felt as though he had waded through broken glass to reach her, only for her to turn around and stab him in the heart. He knew he loved Temperance Brennan unconditionally, without expecting anything in return – the feeling was ingrained into him, probably until his dying days. But this… This was too much. She had no right to treat him with such contempt when he would gladly die to take her pain away. It was time to stop being so damned selfless. Again, he backed away from her; his burning eyes mirroring the resentment that had characterised Temperance's own gaze only moments earlier.

"You know, I was supposed to have Parker this weekend, but I didn't think twice about calling Rebecca to tell her that I couldn't see him. She wasn't happy, even when I explained the reasons why. She threatened to deprive me of access altogether, and I had to virtually get down on my hands and knees and beg her to reconsider. I did that for you, Temperance, because I wanted to be here for you if and when you needed me. I had to speak to my son and hear the disappointment in his tone when I told him that his Daddy had to bail on him. Again. And do you know what?" He leant towards her, fury emanating from his tense physique. "I really don't know why I fucking bothered."

Booth saw the hurt and regret in his partner's eyes, and for the first time in his life, it didn't concern him. In fact, he was close to relishing it. It wasn't as though she had any qualms about lashing out at him; maybe it was time for her to get a taste of her own medicine. "My son is a loving, trusting, caring little boy and all I have to do to make him happy is show up. I can't believe that I sold him out for you."

"Why? What am _I_, Booth?" Temperance's tone was defiant, but fear had begun to infiltrate her bloodshot eyes.

"You're fucking impossible." And with that, Booth turned around and sauntered angrily out of the bathroom, still clutching the towel to his face.

"Booth!" Temperance followed him as quickly as she was able to, watching with growing trepidation as he made a beeline for the front door. "Don't go," she whispered, but it was too late. The door slammed shut and the vibrations echoed through the house, jarring her to the core.

* * *

Booth didn't return home for another three hours. He had briefly contemplated going to the local Accident & Emergency department, but after gazing in his rear-view mirror for over ten minutes, he'd had to conclude that his nose wasn't markedly disjointed. Although, to be fair, the swelling was so extensive he couldn't really tell what the hell was going on under there. His neck was now screaming for respite because he had been tilting his head towards the Heavens for the last half an hour, but his efforts had thankfully staunched the flow of blood. Sid had been a gracious host, setting a stool by the sink and providing him with copious amounts of ice. No questions asked - just the way he liked it.

The last thing on Earth he expected to see when he opened his front door was his godforsaken partner. Bones was sitting on the couch, clutching a cushion to her chest and nervously playing with its trimming. She looked exhausted, but he willed himself not to care.

"I didn't think you'd still be here."

She looked at him for the longest time, trying to gauge his mood before finally responding. "I didn't really have a choice. I gave you my spare set of keys earlier and I didn't know where you'd put them."

Booth looked around, and could see Temperance had shifted a few objects on the kitchen counter and rifled through his drawers. And here he was, thinking that maybe she had stuck around to see whether he was OK. Apparently, she could care less. Booth thought he'd managed to get his anger under control, but it was still bubbling beneath the surface. His partner's blatant disregard for his well-being didn't exactly help matters. He strode into Parker's room, pulling his discarded pants off the floor. He'd completely forgotten about her damn keys. They were in his side pocket, and he retrieved them wordlessly, returning to the lounge and throwing them in her direction - hard. His partner's reflexes clearly weren't up to par and she flinched when the bundle of metal collided sharply with her arm.

Booth instinctively opened his mouth to apologise, but thought better of it. Instead, he yanked the phone from its cradle and grabbed his worn copy of the Yellow Pages, dumping both items unceremoniously into her lap. This time, her gasp of pain was audible.

"It might be a little difficult finding a cab at this time of the morning, but I'm sure you'll manage. And stick my bathrobe in the laundry basket before you go, would you?" The last sentence slipped out of Booth's mouth entirely of its own volition, and he wanted to die when he saw the look on his partner's face. He had inadvertently confirmed her worst fears – that she was tarnished in some way, and even though Temperance had said far worse things to him in the course of the last five hours, he would have given anything to take it back.

"Booth…. I…." Temperance was dumbfounded. Her hands had started to shake as she searched her partner's face, desperately hoping to find a trace of the tenderness and affection that had kept her sane throughout this whole ordeal. Booth looked away, clearing his throat.

"I'm going back to bed. You can see yourself out. Angela's more than welcome to come by tomorrow and pick your things up, so don't bother trying to lug that suitcase around with you."

Booth bypassed Parker's room and headed straight towards his own bed, making it abundantly clear that Temperance wasn't welcome to follow. He closed the door firmly behind him, his eyes settling on a silken strand of auburn hair that had lingered on his pillow. He buried his face in the soft fabric, getting his first sense of what his partner's intoxicating scent smelt like when mingled with his own. And then he began to cry.

* * *

Temperance couldn't leave her suitcase behind. Booth's letter was in her suitcase. She had tangible evidence that he loved her, fourteen pages of manuscript attesting to the fact that he cared. Those kinds of feelings couldn't be eradicated overnight, could they? Her long-forgotten nightmare was nothing compared to the terrifying reality of losing her partner; Seeley Booth was the one person in her life who she couldn't envisage being without. And yet she treated this loyal, witty and insightful man abysmally, as though she was purposely trying to sabotage the one relationship that meant something – no, everything – to her. There was no excuse for her behaviour tonight. It was almost as though she had been intentionally pushing Booth's buttons to see how much he could take before he - like everyone else before him - decided to leave. But when that door had slammed shut, she hadn't felt any sense of satisfaction in speeding up the inevitable; just a debilitating cocktail of dread, remorse and sorrow.

Temperance Brennan wasn't someone who easily conceded blame, but directing her rage at Booth was almost as nonsensical as the fit of temper itself. She still didn't know where her anger had stemmed from; it was completely irrational and had left her hurling unforgivable insults that she didn't even mean. She had been ranting like a lunatic, but the words themselves had hit their target with deadly accuracy, and she knew how much she must have hurt Booth because, when her partner finally decided to make a stand and fight back, his scathing remarks had cut her to the core.

The relief she had felt when she heard him re-enter the apartment had quickly been tempered by dismay. She had barely recognised Booth when he walked through that door, and not just because his face was swollen beyond recognition. He had been aloof, and distant, and his blatant disregard for her well being had been as terrifying as the look on his face when she had inadvertently struck him. When Booth stormed off to his bedroom, she almost lost the will to live, because the truth was, she needed him to love her. Because if she allowed herself to cast aside her instincts for self-preservation, if she looked beyond her cynicism and wariness, Temperance knew that she loved him, too.

And now, the fact of the matter was that Temperance didn't want to leave. She couldn't bear to go home to an empty apartment, knowing that she had wounded someone she cared so deeply about without even trying to put it right. She just wished she knew how to repair the damage. If only Booth knew the real reason why she had remained sitting rigidly on his couch for the best part of three hours, still clad in his bathrobe. She remembered how he had wrapped it so tenderly around her shoulders, how her stomach had fluttered at his touch, and she hated herself for hurting him even more. She knew she wouldn't have been able to sleep until she reassured herself that Booth was all right - she had made him bleed, for God's sake. And yet instead of admitting the truth, she had spun some lame yarn about not being able to find her keys. In reality, she had been searching for a notepad and pen, hoping to take a leaf out of her partner's book and write down how she was really feeling. But it was simply too much for her to process.

Slowly, she got to her feet, wondering if she could venture into his room without waking him. She felt strangely compelled to be near him, to remember what his face looked like when it wasn't contorted with anger.

Her hand was poised on the brass handle and she was just about to open the door when she heard the sound of her partner moving towards it. She recoiled in surprise, taking several steps backwards, but by the time a topless Booth had swung open the door, she still hadn't retreated enough to disguise her intention. He stared at her attentively, questioningly, and she inexplicably found herself bursting into tears as her eyes roved over his bruised countenance. She took several tentative steps towards him, running a trembling finger across the bridge of his swollen nose, sobbing with relief when he didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," She whispered fervently, willing him to believe the truth in her words. "Not just for this… for everything." She averted her gaze, staring at her hands. "You're too good for me, Booth. I don't deserve you."

No response was forthcoming, which only served to exacerbate the ache in her chest. Clearly, Booth wasn't willing to forgive and forget. Not that she could blame him. She turned away, biting back another sob, and reached for the Yellow Pages. It was hard to focus on the myriad of cab companies listed in the cumbersome directory, because her vision was blurring with unshed tears.

Seeley Booth was a proud man, but his partner's evident remorse was eating away at his resolve. Bones did not admit defeat easily, but her apologies - on the rare occasion they were uttered - were heartfelt and utterly sincere. The fact that she was still here meant more to him than words could convey, and as he watched her tears cascade onto the thin paper, smudging the ink residing there, he couldn't bring himself to perpetuate her pain any longer. "You don't deserve me?" He echoed, laying his hands on top of her own. "Well, that's too bad. Because I don't want anybody else, Bones. Only you. So why don't you put that friggin' book down and come here?"

Temperance's tears began with renewed a vengeance as she considered the implications of Booth's words, and he gathered her into his arms, his cheeks flushing slightly as he absorbed the intoxicating sensation of her pressing against his naked torso. He collapsed onto the couch, pulling her into his lap, and she clung to him so tightly it would have been impossible for him to extricate himself from her embrace. Not that he wanted to, ever again. He rocked her in a soothing motion and gradually the tension began to drain from her body as she realised that he wasn't going to start mentally replaying the events of this morning and decide that she wasn't worthy of his absolution, after all. The death grip around his neck gradually loosened, and Temperance pulled back slightly, studying her partner's face with palpable anxiety.

"How can you be so nice to me after what I said to you earlier? That was unforgivable, Booth."

"I don't know, Bones, maybe I have masochistic tendencies." He sensed that she was not in the mood for evasive humour, and regarded her with a soft smile. "Because I am head over heels in love with you, Temperance Brennan. And unfortunately, that isn't something I can just switch on and off. Even when you decide that I'm the most detestable man on the face of the planet and feel the need to smack me in the face to emphasise your point."

"I don't think you're detestable, Booth. Not at all. You know that, right? What I said… I didn't mean any of it. I wasn't even consciously aware of what was coming out of my mouth, which sounds completely irrational, but it's true. I would never intentionally cause you pain."

"Well it felt pretty intentional at the time." He gingerly rubbed his nose, giving her a wry smile. "And I've got to say, Bones, if you can pack a punch like that in your condition, I hate to think what you're capable of when you're fighting fit."

Temperance didn't even crack a smile; she just regarded him with doleful eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I think we've established that, Bones. It's fine. Really." He gave her a gentle squeeze. "You're forgiven, OK? I'm not even going to make you say any Hail Mary's." He drew her closer to him, trying to ignore the heady sensation caused by her shifting position in his lap "I think you're more than entitled to have a meltdown after everything you've been through, Temperance. And, besides, you were right about some things." He avoided her gaze, staring at a spot somewhere past her shoulder. "I should have been there for you, Bones. I let you down, and there aren't enough 'sorrys' in the world to make up for that."

"No, Booth." She cupped his face in her hands, willing him to look at her. "I know it sounded like I was trying to put you on some kind of guilt trip, but that was never my intention. I was terrified, Booth, I'm not going to deny that, but I know you did everything you could to find me, and that you got there as quickly as you were able to. You told me earlier that I'm 'not fucking Wonder Woman.' Well, you're not fucking Superman, either, OK? And I don't expect you to be." She gave him a tentative grin. "Except when I'm having a meltdown and being completely irrational."

Booth nodded, and smiled weakly in response, but the warmth didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Whenever I'm upset, you always know how to make me feel better. You always know the right thing to say. I wish I could do the same for you, Booth." Temperance buried her face in her partner's shoulder, placing her lips against his collarbone and kissing him lightly. "But that's kind of difficult when I'm the one who upset you in the first place." She ran her fingers over her partner's well-defined chest, wiping away the remnants of her earlier tears. Initially, her actions had a purpose, but soon she found herself tracing languorous patterns across his torso purely for her own enjoyment, and Booth closed his eyes, absorbing the pleasurable sensation with a contented sigh.

"Or you could always just do that instead," he murmured appreciatively, but he was forced to reconsider when her roving hands, coupled with the weight of her pressing against him, slowly began to stir his exhausted body into wakefulness. "Although, on second thoughts, I think you'd better stop before I start enjoying it a little too much." He stilled her hands with his own, and their gazes locked. Booth briefly wondered if he would find recrimination there, but Bones' expression was one of relief.

"You still want me?" She whispered, sounding painfully insecure.

Booth gave her a tender smile, reaching out to smooth her furrowed brow. "Always." Then he considered the implications of what he'd said, given the context of her question. "But, you know, not in a perverted way or anything. I just meant… that…."

Brennan started to laugh, and Booth ducked his head to hide his blush. He was more than a little surprised when his partner leant towards him, placing a chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, Booth. I have no idea how you tolerate me sometimes, but I… I don't think I could have coped during these past couple of days without you." That was hard for her to admit, but she needed to say it. She wanted Booth to know how much he meant to her, even if she couldn't bring herself to articulate her feelings in a more direct manner.

"Well, it's a good thing that I'm planning on sticking around, then, isn't it?" He hoisted his partner to her feet, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he led her back towards his bedroom. "I'm not leaving you, Bones," He stated seriously. "No matter how hard you push."

Brennan gave him a tearful smile and this time, when he hesitated in the doorframe, she took his hand, inviting him in without a second thought.

"I guess I'd better let you stay, then."


	14. Chapter 14

**_OK, it's really not good to be up this late on a work night, but soon I won't have to worry about burning the candle at both ends because I've just decided to hand in my resignation. I weighed up the pros and cons of being mercilessly exploited for a pitiful salary vs staying at home to work on 'Broken Beyond Repair' all day, every day and suffice it to say that logic prevailed. Well, at least until I run out of cash and have to put my ideals on the back burner again. _**

**_This is a relatively short chapter compared to the preceding updates, and I was initially going to expand on it this weekend, but I thought it functioned pretty well in its own right and that you might appreciate a mid-week update to curb the waiting process. I hope the quality hasn't diminished - to be honest, I had no idea how I was going to top what I wrote in Chapter 13, so I decided to try for a fresh perspective instead. You'll be pleased to know that I've opted for a more light-hearted tone rather than expanding on the angst, because I stretched Brennan and Booth to breaking point last weekend and now they (and I) need to wind down. Thank you so much for your lovely feedback in respect of Chapter 13, and my apologies to those of you who were left in tears (if it's any consolation, writing it was pretty upsetting, too). In my defence, I did provide a tissue warning LOL._**

**_Oh, and Lesley, just so you know it's really me - Hi!_**

* * *

It was almost midday when Brennan jerked back to reality, wondering why her partner was emitting a noise not dissimilar to a freight train derailing. Booth hadn't previously demonstrated a propensity for snoring, and now she glanced over at him in faintly veiled distaste. She was seconds away from jabbing him in the ribs when she realised exactly why she was being subjected to this insufferable din. In the harsh light of day, Booth's nose appeared to have taken over his entire face. The swelling was extensive and had rendered his inflamed nostrils completely ineffective – air was not going to be circulating in that particular region for quite some time to come. Her partner's mouth was therefore hanging open, and if she hadn't felt so guilty for inflicting the injury in the first place, Brennan would have laughed at his slack-jawed, slightly gormless expression. The fact that Booth's hair was tousled to comical proportions didn't exactly help his cause, either.

"You should be glad that Angela isn't here to see this, Booth," She whispered, carefully extracting her arm from her partner's loose embrace and reaching out to trace his jaw line. Her fingertips were hovering millimetres away from his lips when Booth suddenly opened his eyes, giving her an amused, if puzzled look.

"You had some… drool… on your chin," Brennan clarified, her eyes twinkling when her partner immediately recognised her reference to their earlier encounter at the lab. "And you were snoring like a pig."

Booth broke into a beguiling grin. "Well, I have it on good authority that you're pretty darn fond of Porky and his friends. What was it you said? 'Very smart,' 'surprisingly clean…'"

"And there's always an exception to prove the rule."

"Bones, I've been awake for less than a minute and the insults are already raining down on me. Give me a little time to put up my defences here." Booth did his best to evoke a long-suffering look. "So, what's the verdict? Has my face lost its pleasingly symmetrical quality? Do I stand to lose my status as a 'good breeder'?"

Booth's teasing grin was infectious, and Brennan couldn't help but laugh, even though it felt wrong to do so. She would never be able to disregard the magnitude of her earlier actions, or forgive herself for being so unjustifiably callous. Still, the fact that Booth was willing to joke about his injuries was infinitely preferable to the alternative, so she was more than willing to play along.

"I think that, objectively speaking, you would still be considered reasonably attractive, Booth."

"Reasonably?" Booth pretended to be affronted.

"Yes, reasonably."

Booth's grin started to widen considerably. "So what you're really saying is that any woman with a good grasp of reason would find me attractive, right?"

Brennan rolled her eyes, but they were sparkling with amusement. "If that's what you want to believe, Booth, then who am I to shatter your illusions?"

"Gee, thanks Bones."

They smiled warmly at each other, comforted by the familiarity of their carefree banter. Loath for it to end, Brennan inched closer to her partner, resting her head on the pillow so her lips were adjacent to his ear.

"Although I have to say, your attractiveness is somewhat diminished by the nasal quality of your tone."

"Yeah, well it's not like I can really help that right now, Bones." Booth fought back his own laughter as he watched his partner begin to chortle away to herself. "What? What's so funny?"

"Do you remember that woefully inaccurate impression you insisted on performing when you dressed up as a squint for Halloween?" Brennan snorted in a somewhat undignified manner. "Well, that's what you sound like now, Booth. On a permanent basis."

"Yeah, well I guess karma came around to bite me on the ass. And as for you…" Booth sat up and, placing his hands on either side of his partner's slender frame to support his weight, he leant over her prostrate form until their noses were virtually touching. Brennan tensed almost immediately, and Booth wanted to kick himself when he saw the panic infiltrating her endlessly expressive eyes. He backed off without a moment's hesitation and virtually tumbled out of bed. "God, Bones, I'm so sorry. I was just going to say… I mean, I never intended…" He shook his head sadly. "I didn't even think."

"Booth, it's not your fault." Brennan was struggling to understand how she could have instinctively overreacted to such an innocuous stimulus. "I don't know what happened. I just… I…"

"Had a flashback and thought I was him?"

"No! God, no!" Brennan shook her head vehemently. "Don't think that. Don't ever think that. You just took me by surprise, that's all, and I had a completely irrational response." Her partner wasn't looking sufficiently convinced. "Booth, come here." She beckoned him back over to the bed, and he hesitantly situated himself besides her.

"Do it again."

"What?"

"I said, do it again."

Booth's cheeks began to turn an interesting shade of crimson. "Bones, I really think the moment's been and gone…"

"Please, Booth." She regarded him imploringly. "I need to know that I can do this."

"Fine." Booth muttered, his burning ears emphasising his embarrassment. Tentatively, he positioned himself over the top of his partner, ensuring that his body wasn't exerting any pressure on her bruised ribs.

"You know, it would help if you'd actually look at me." Brennan placed her hands on Booth's broad shoulders, willing him to meet her tender gaze. She blushed when she saw the intensity of emotion lurking in his soulful brown eyes. Five minutes ago, her quickening pulse had undoubtedly resulted from fear. Now, it was racing for another reason entirely. "I know you would never hurt me, Booth," she whispered, making a halfhearted attempt to straighten out his ruffled hair with her fingers. "I trust you implicitly. And please believe me when I say that I really don't have a problem with your proximity. I'm perfectly at ease right now."

"Well, that makes one of us, Bones," Booth mumbled, wondering whether his partner would have a problem with his proximity if he decided to bridge the very small gap between them and kiss her.

This was getting dangerously close to being overwhelming, and Brennan found herself desperately in need of a get-out clause. "You know what, Booth? I think I figured out why I instinctively pulled away from you earlier."

"Yeah?"

"Well, your sinuses are swollen and you're obviously suffering with severe nasal congestion, and during sleep our saliva production is drastically reduced. Anyone who sleeps with their mouth open – "

"Are you trying to tell me that my breath stinks, Bones?" Booth withdrew from his partner, looking mortified.

"Maybe." Brennan started to laugh at Booth's aghast expression. "Or maybe I'm just 'expanding my comedic repertoire.'"

"Yeah, you're freakin' hilarious, Bones." Booth's irritated tone held a distinctly sarcastic quality. "I'm going to laugh my ass off all the way to the bathroom. And then…" He smiled wryly. "I'm going to brush my teeth several times."

"Good." Temperance regarded him defiantly, her lips twitching slightly.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're far too cocky first thing in the morning?"

Temperance glanced at the digital alarm clock on Booth's bedside table. "Booth, that statement is completely redundant because it's half past twelve. Which makes it officially _after_ noon."

"Wow, Bones. You're observational skills never fail to astound me."

"Well, considering the nature of my profession, you shouldn't really be astounded, Booth. I'm trained to spot details that the vast majority of people would overlook. It's only natural for me to notice…" Brennan could see that her partner's patience threshold was beginning to wane, and she realised that now was probably a prudent time to drop the issue. "OK. Go and have a shower and I'll make us some breakfast."

"Breakfast? _Breakfast_, Bones?" Booth started to laugh with barely concealed glee, placing his hands gently on his partner's shoulders and swivelling her in the direction of his bedside table. "Now, Bones, I hate to be anal retentive here, but you see that alarm clock over there? It says 12.32pm, which means making breakfast would be a _completely redundant_ exercise, because it is, in fact, lunchtime."

Booth was regarding her with a distinctly smug expression, and Brennan's eyes widened when she realised her faux pas. But there was no way on Earth that Booth was going to win a battle of semantics with her. "Well, actually Booth, if you take the time to consider the origins of the word breakfast, it simply refers to the act of eating after a prolonged period of time without food. So you're literally _breaking a fast_. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but we haven't consumed anything since last night, so I fail to see why you would consider 'breakfast' a technically inaccurate term."

Booth sighed at the injustice of it all. He'd had his partner on the ropes, and he was poised to revel in his petty victory. But the mighty Temperance Brennan had talked her way back from the brink of defeat. Again. "Bones, for once in your life, would it kill you to admit that you're wrong?"

Brennan was about to give a customarily acerbic response, but then she found herself considering the question in another context entirely. "What I did last night… that was wrong," she whispered, her eyes fixed intently on the wall. "And I haven't forgotten that, Booth."

"Well, luckily for you, I don't bear a grudge." Booth reached for his partner's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "It's all water under the bridge now, Bones. Don't beat yourself up about it, because God knows, you've taken enough hits already." Silence descended for a few moments, and Booth inwardly bemoaned the abrupt change in atmosphere, clearing his throat nervously. "Temperance, what you said to me last night… about… what he did to you. I'm just… I'm so - "

Temperance suddenly felt compelled to throw the sheets aside. "We can't lounge around in bed all day, Booth. I can convalesce just as well on the couch."

"Hey." Booth recognised an evasive tactic when he saw one. He stood up, and reached out to stall his partner's hasty departure by placing his hands lightly on her waist. "Are you going to let me finish?"

Brennan stiffened, but knew better than to fight her way out of his gentle grasp this time around. She stared down at the bedspread, trying to conceal her shame. "I don't want your pity, Booth."

"Good, because this isn't pity." Booth cupped her face in his hands, eliciting eye contact. "This is me hating that bastard for hurting you, and caring about the fact that you're still in pain. I am so sorry that this happened to you, Temperance."

"And what about the others, Booth?" Brennan suddenly demanded. "What about those poor, defenceless young girls who didn't have the capacity to protect themselves? He strung them up like animals and tortured them without reprieve. He took Rachel Matthew's virginity, for God's sake. She was a sex slave before she even knew what it was like to have a considerate lover."

Brennan's eyes began to swim with tears. She suddenly felt like a monster, remembering how she had examined the victims' remains with an objective eye; catalogued the damage to their weathered bones as though it was all just part of protocol. She cared, of course, and capturing the murdering bastard had been her highest priority for a number of weeks, but she was always wary of getting too emotionally involved. Now that was inescapable, because Temperance had felt firsthand the crippling terror those girls must have endured. But it grieved her to realise that she had barely experienced an iota of their pain, and her heart buckled with empathy. She swallowed a sob, regarding her partner with world-weary eyes.

"If it means that I saved another kid whose life was full of promise from falling into that bastard's clutches, then I'm glad that I had the opportunity to blow his brains out."

"That isn't the kind of sacrifice anyone should have to make, Bones." Booth could understand his partner's reasoning, but he knew it had no bearing on the enormity of what she'd been through. "This sort of stuff isn't in our job description."

"You didn't say that when you were kidnapped by Hugh Kennedy. You were held against your will and badly beaten. He virtually tortured you, Booth. I fail to see how that's any different to what I've been through."

"You're kidding me, right?" Booth shook his head in disbelief. "It's different because Hugh Kennedy wasn't pinning me to the floor and trying to shove his cock up my asshole, OK, Bones?"

Brennan started at her partner in utter astonishment. That was probably the most sexually explicit thing she had ever heard Booth say, and he looked shell-shocked, as if he couldn't quite believe he was capable of voicing something so thoughtless. She could see he was already poised to apologise for his insensitive outburst, so she stopped him in his tracks by spontaneously bursting into laughter.

"What? What are you laughing at, Bones? You think that's funny?" Booth was torn between bewilderment and amusement. "Because that really would _not_ have been pleasant."

Brennan's laughter intensified. "I'm not laughing at the scenario Booth, I'm laughing at your _face_."

"Well that makes me feel so much better." Booth couldn't help but smile at his partner's evident mirth, although her moods were so erratic as of late that he was struggling to keep up. He impulsively pulled her into an affectionate hug, immeasurably pleased when she didn't pull away. "You know, you're a strange, strange woman, Bones, but somebody's gotta love ya."

"And you're a fine specimen of a man, Agent Booth." Brennan smiled against her partner's sturdy shoulder, inordinately pleased that he was capable of accepting her, even when he couldn't understand her. She regarded him seriously for a moment, wondering whether he was astute enough to gauge the depth of her feelings for him, or whether it would be more practical for her to vocalise them. "Booth," She whispered hesitantly, and something about the timbre of her tone caused him to look up sharply, attentive brown eyes betraying his hope.

"You don't really have bad breath."

Booth audibly exhaled, swallowing his fleeting sense of disappointment. "Yeah, thanks Bones. That means a lot."


	15. Chapter 15

Temperance Brennan did not understand the concepts of 'lounging around,' 'vegging out in front of the TV,' or 'kicking back and relaxing.' Some people were devoid of a purpose in life and easily entertained by mindless fodder. She, however, was not one of them. She knew that rest was an imperative component of the recovery process, but she would not permit her injuries to inhibit her productivity. Unfortunately, Booth was determined to treat her like an invalid and her attempts to prove otherwise had been met by his vehement protests. She knew her partner shared her industrious nature, so she was surprised – and somewhat disappointed – that he was willing to while away the day without doing anything remotely constructive. Booth had positioned her on the couch, deposited a duvet on top of her and was now rooting around in the cabinet beneath his imposing TV, having vowed to find a film that would "blow her mind." Whilst it was admittedly nice to have an unmitigated view of his shapely behind, if the tripe she had been subjected to yesterday was a testimony to her partner's taste, then she wasn't about to start jumping up and down in anticipation.

Booth was feeling the pressure. He didn't have an extensive collection of DVDs to begin with, and selecting a film that could escape the censure of his pernickety partner limited his options still further. There were a couple of chick flicks lurking at the back of the cabinet - remnants of his ill-fated relationship with Rebecca - but he somehow sensed that 'When A Man Loves A Woman' wasn't exactly Bones' cup of tea. You wanted the dictionary definition of oxymoron? See _Temperance Brennan: hopeless romantic_. His gaze briefly settled on 'American History X,' knowing that his partner would probably enjoy a film that had something so profound to say about their flawed society and the never-ending cycle of violence, but it was pretty graphic in places and guns were definitely off the agenda for today. He didn't want to elicit any more flashbacks. Bones was a realist, so he could also rule out anything where a gigantic leap of faith was required to grasp the plot. He knew that his partner, unlike Tessa, was not going to cower in the crook of his shoulder if he forced her to sit through 'The Sixth Sense.' _More's the pity._

Brennan emitted an audible sigh, her patience threshold rapidly waning. She began pointedly drumming her fingers against the wooden coffee table, and when that didn't evoke the desired response, she tutted. Loudly.

Booth gritted his teeth. "OK Bones, I get the picture. You're bored. But I am _trying_ to remedy that, so do you think you might be able to spare me a few more minutes of your precious time?" He mumbled something under his breath, rolling his eyes.

"Did you just call me high maintenance?" Brennan demanded in an outraged tone, and Booth winced accordingly.

"Look Bones, I sit around for hours watching you play with dismembered body parts, and do I ever complain?" Booth inched further into the recesses of the cabinet and, as a last resort, he began scanning through some of Parker's G-rated movie titles. A grin slowly began to spread across his face when he caught sight of an old favourite, and his spontaneous cry of victory made Brennan physically jump. She bit back a grin of amusement as Booth, in his haste to withdraw from the confines of the cabinet, inadvertently smacked his head against its solid pine rim. He clambered back to his feet, gingerly rubbing his forehead, but still managed to parry his partner's attempt to snatch the DVD out of his hands.

"Didn't anyone even teach you that patience is a virtue, Bones? Now, I'm not going to spoil it for you, but from an anthropological point of view, I know you're going to love this movie."

Despite her better judgement, Brennan's curiosity was piqued. "Why, what's it about?"

"OK, what part of 'I'm not going to spoil it for you' didn't you understand, Bones?" His partner was looking at him petulantly, clearly unable to cope with the unknown, so Booth decided to have a little fun. "Fine. You know how you're always banging on about how much society and environment influence our upbringing?" Booth was making this up as he was going along, and loving every minute of it.

"Yes…" Brennan conceded, her eyes narrowing. "But I resent the use of the term 'banging on,' as it suggests that my observations are repetitive and uninteresting."

"That clearly wasn't my intention, Bones," Booth lied, trying not to laugh. "OK, so bear in mind that this is a very… generic… synopsis, but the film is basically about a baby pig…"

"You mean a _'piglet'_?"

"Whatever, Bones. A small, cute, pink thing with the tendency to squeal, that's wrenched away from its mother at a very young age and subsequently raised by dogs." Booth pursed his lips to try and repress the snort that was fighting to spring forth. "It's fascinating really, because the pig becomes so ingrained in its new culture that it starts to… ahem… exhibit dog-like behaviour."

"That sounds very intriguing Booth. More like a documentary than a film, really. I've seen the phenomenon in humans, too. It's amazing how primitive people can be without social conditioning. Did you ever read any of the literature on that Ukrainian girl, Oxana Malaya, who was forced to live in a kennel and spent the majority of her time with stray dogs?"

Booth did his best to muster an interested look. "No, I didn't actually, Bones. It's not really part of the syllabus at Quantico."

"Well, her story is amazing. When she was finally rescued she moved around on all fours and could only communicate via barks and growls. Of course, not all feral children have been raised by animals, some are just so isolated from society that they haven't learnt the basics of human interaction."

"Oh, you mean like 'Nell?" Booth enquired, starting to wave his hands in the air with his mouth slightly agape. "Tay in de wiiiind," he moaned, and Brennan looked at him as though he was clinically insane.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Booth. If you could even begin to call that 'talking.'"

"Of course you don't, Bones." Booth began to laugh, although with his nose so blocked it sounded more like he was braying. "Nell' is one of Jodie Foster's most famous films, she won a lot of awards for her performance as one of those… feral… women you were just on about. Please tell me you know who Jodie Foster is, Bones?"

Brennan gave him a contemptuous look. "Yes, Booth, of course I know who Jodie Foster is. I'm sorry if I haven't seen every film that she's ever been in, but unlike you, I happen to think there are more important things in life than staring at an over-sized television screen."

"Fine, if that's the way you feel, let's just forget about it, shall we?" Booth was trying desperately hard to control his anger. "I'll go and get my laptop so you can work on another one of your best-selling, award-winning novels, and I'll find some other way of killing my brain cells."

Now Brennan felt decidedly guilty for her defensive outburst. "Booth, I wasn't trying to imply that you're less intelligent than me. Although, given the fact that my intellectual ability supersedes most of the country's, of course you're comparatively - "

"Bones, just…. be quiet, OK?" Booth's jaw was clenched, and he regarded her with an exasperated expression.

"What I'm trying to say, Booth, is that I don't mind watching the film. It actually sounds very interesting." Brennan studied her partner's petulant features, giving him a placating smile. "So are you going to stop sulking and come and sit down?"

"Fine," Booth muttered, extracting the DVD from its case and loading it into the TV's built-in player. He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether Bones would be more comfortable if he were to sit in his armchair instead of besides her on the couch, but Brennan made the decision for him, pulling back the duvet and gesturing for him to join her underneath it. Her legs were stretched across two of the cushions, so he sat at the far end of the sofa, fighting to conceal his grin as the opening credits began to roll.

"What the hell is this, Booth?" Brennan exclaimed less than two minutes later, glaring at her partner with a mixture of bewilderment and outrage. Booth had been watching her intently and was now convulsing with laughter as he finally handed over the DVD for her appraisal.

"Babe? You expect me to give credence to a film that's about a talking pig called Babe?"

"I thought you said you liked pigs, Bones? And Babe isn't just any pig, you know, he's practically in your league when it comes to intelligence. You haven't even seen any of his party tricks yet." Booth was grinning, but Brennan looked distinctly unimpressed.

"Bones, it's just a bit of escapism. If you try and suspend your disbelief and actually bother to engage with the story, I promise you'll like it. Just give it a chance." He regarded her sincerely. "Please."

Surprisingly, Brennan relented, albeit begrudgingly. How could she refuse her partner anything when, every time he looked at her, she could see the evidence of her earlier transgressions? She sank back against the cushions, heaving an irritated sigh. When Booth dared to glance over at her ten minutes later, Temperance's eyes were glued to the screen, and a faint smile was beginning to play across her features. Another five minutes elapsed and this time, she laughed out loud, feeling the tension draining from her body in the process. She was so engrossed in the film that she failed to notice when Booth stopped watching the screen in favour of watching her. Every time she laughed, an answering chuckle formed in her partner's chest, and for once in his lifetime, Booth didn't even contemplate the merits of saying 'I told you so.' Bones looked so uncharacteristically relaxed that he gladly would have made it a felony to infringe on her enjoyment.

However, there came a point when Babe discovered his owner's ulterior motives for fattening him up and ironically began to starve himself in the hope of avoiding a trip to the slaughterhouse. Booth looked on with barely concealed amusement as Brennan's heart visibly began to bleed for the sick little pig. When a tear leaked from the corner of her eye, he couldn't resist reaching out to tenderly wipe it away, and she looked at him in surprise, suddenly all-too-aware of his presence.

"Temperance Brennan, please don't tell me that you're crying over the plight of a talking pig called Babe."

Brennan laughed, but whilst her expression was sheepish, her eyes retained a melancholic look. "He doesn't die, does he, Booth?" She whispered anxiously, her cheeks beginning to burn with embarrassment before she had even finished uttering the absurd question. Booth was right; it was completely illogical to care about the outcome of a fictional narrative, to feel empathy for a character that wasn't even human. But to her surprise, her partner didn't berate her for her stupidity, or even tell her to wait and see. He was regarding her affectionately as he shook his head.

"No Bones, he doesn't die…" Booth tried so hard to resist the temptation to expand on his previous comment but alas, he was only human. "At least not from a Hindu perspective. He gets reincarnated… as a bacon sandwich."

"Booth!" Despite herself, Brennan started to laugh, and Booth was somewhat taken aback when she shuffled towards him, laying her head against his shoulder. He wrapped an experimental arm around her waist, pulling her closer, and they laughed together when Farmer Hoggett went to humiliating lengths to persuade the pig to trust him again and drink from his proffered bottle. Bones was so close, he could feel her breath against his neck, and he resisted the urge to shiver in response.

"This is ridiculous," Temperance muttered, even though she was unable to quash her smile.

"Bones, just admit it. You're loving every minute of this." Booth lightly ran his fingers over his partner's side, laughing when she started to squirm. "Come on, I'm waiting."

"Booth, don't tickle me, I'm an injured woman!" She batted his hand away, and he froze for a moment, instantly remorseful.

"Bones, I'm so sorry. I just…" How could he say that for one blissful moment, he had dared to forget?

"It's OK." She reinstated his arm to its original position and began to play with his fingers, memorising the exact spots where the predominantly smooth skin gave way to a rougher texture. She traced the misshapen bumps on his knuckles, knowing he must have broken them several times in the past, and he lapsed into silence, enjoying the intimate sensation. When she finally worked up the courage to glance up at him, her breath caught in her throat, because Booth was studying her with that unfathomable expression again, the look that made it impossible for her to decide whether she wanted to run in the opposite direction, or stay here for all eternity. When her partner reached out to run the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, she swallowed nervously, consciously willing herself not to pull back.

"I could get used to this." The admission wasn't premeditated and Booth's voice was hoarse with apprehension. Temperance could feel his heart begin to beat at a vastly accelerated tempo as he awaited her response, and she stared at him intently, her cheeks beginning to flush.

"I… I'm kind of thirsty, Booth. Would you like a drink?"

She stood up abruptly, making a beeline towards the kitchen, and once Booth had recovered from the shock of her impromptu departure, he followed her, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. Bones was initially facing away from him, but gradually she mustered the courage to turn around, and they stared at each other for a moment, before her gaze faltered again.

"Booth…" She whispered, and he caught hold of her hands, playing with her delicate fingers in much the same fashion as she had done earlier, only this time he was imagining what they would feel like running over more erogenous areas of his toned physique.

"I…"

The abrupt rapping on Booth's front door startled them to such an extent that they both jumped violently, as though the electricity crackling between them was forceful enough to propel them in opposite directions.

"For fuck's sake!" Booth exclaimed with barely disguised irritation, although his ire was rapidly replaced with concern when he noticed his partner's alarmed expression. "Bones, you don't have to see anyone if you're not ready, OK? I'll just tell them that you're sleeping or something. I mean, I told them not to come over until I gave them the go-ahead anyway, but they clearly don't pay attention to a damn thing I say."

But Temperance Brennan was not a coward, and she briefly brushed her hand against her partner's forearm before walking towards the door, glancing through the peephole with faintly veiled trepidation. Like Booth, she had expected to see Angela and Hodgins, or perhaps even Zach, and she would have forced herself to endure their hesitant questions and awkward sympathy simply because she knew how much they cared. But the visitor currently loitering in the hallway, clutching, of all things, a bouquet of _flowers_, had no right to be encroaching on their territory. She cursed under her breath, letting out an uninhibited groan of frustration, and Booth was by her side in a matter of seconds.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Get him out of here, Booth." She ground out between clenched teeth, pointing towards the door with a shaking finger. "Right _now_."

Booth immediately put his eye to the peephole, wondering who had the capacity to elicit such a violent response from his partner, and he promptly began to shake his head in disbelief. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, NO. You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me."

"Guys, I can hear you, you know. And I'm hurt, I really am." If he was being completely honest with himself, Doctor Lance Sweets was feeling slightly intimidated by the hostile reception, but he had come here out of the goodness of his heart, knowing that Dr Brennan and Agent Booth needed his psychological expertise now more than ever. And he wasn't going to leave without a fight.

"Sweets, I'm giving you ten seconds to get the hell out of here, or else I'm gonna come out there and forcibly remove you from the premises. And trust me, that will _not_ be a pleasant experience for you."

OK, so it looked like he'd got his fight. "Agent Booth, I can understand why you and Doctor Brennan are reluctant to talk to me. I represent everything that you're trying to run away from right now, but I know that you're both in a lot of pain, and if you don't deal with things in an appropriate manner, it could have disastrous implications for your partnership."

Booth rolled his eyes at Brennan, taking her hand in his own and squeezing it reassuringly. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, squeezing back.

"You know, Sweets, it's getting kind of late. Isn't it time that you were running back home to Mommy? I'm sure she'd be _thrilled_ with that lovely bunch of flowers you've got there - she might even make you some supper before bedtime if you're lucky."

"Agent Booth, sarcasm is one of the most lame avoidance measures an individual can utilise, so if you think your insults are going to deter me, then you're very much mistaken." Sweets ears were beginning to burn with embarrassment, but he nevertheless stood his ground.

Booth was getting angry now. "OK, well how about I opt for honesty instead, you snot-nosed, arrogant little bastard? You don't have a fucking clue about what we're going through right now, because you spend your day sat behind a desk providing meaningless little commentaries on other people's lives, and I'm willing to bet that you have no experience whatsoever when it comes to dealing with the victims of violent crime. I mean, I'm sure you've read a lot of books on the subject, but why don't you try living it for a change? Then you can come knocking on my door and lecture me about how to deal with things, OK?"

Sweets was momentarily taken aback. He had been subjected to Agent Booth's diatribes several times in the past, but none had been quite so aggressive – or as hurtful. It only served to confirm his worst fears about Dr Brennan's current living arrangements and, steeling his resolve, he bravely decided to voice his concerns, figuring that as long as there was two inches of solid oak door between him and the trigger-happy Agent, he was safe.

"Dr Brennan, I really don't think that it's healthy for you to be staying with Agent Booth right now. He's clearly dealing with a lot of pent up anger, and whilst I recognise your need to be around someone who is capable of protecting you, that alone does not constitute a nurturing environment. I've observed you trying to whitewash over your feelings several times in the past, and Agent Booth is clearly facilitating this, as he is equally as keen to avoid his own emotions..." Sweets sighed, momentarily abandoning the psychobabble. "…Which means neither of you are dealing, guys."

"You're wrong." Brennan's voice was soft, but brimming with conviction, and she gently stroked her partner's cheek, willing the tension in his clenched jaw to dissipate.

Sweets, meanwhile, was contemplating the merits of banging his head against a brick wall.

"Dr Brennan, you have to be reasonable here, for your own sake. You and Agent Booth talk about work and little else. OK, so you have a strong professional relationship, but your personal relationship is fledgling at best. You need a support network right now, and I would strongly recommend that you stay with Miss Montenegro for the next week or so, because I know that she has the capacity to listen to what you have to say, and that she won't let you skirt around the truth. Agent Booth is, essentially, a prude. He can hardly bear to hear you say the word 'anus,' so I strongly doubt that he's ready to acknowledge the graphic reality of what you've been through, let alone hear you talking about it in any explicit detail. And I imagine that you probably feel uncomfortable enough about the situation already, without adding his feelings of awkwardness, guilt and anger into the mix. That's something that he needs to deal with independently."

Brennan had been shaking her head more and more vigorously at the inaccuracy of Sweet's ill-advised assumptions, and now she was waiting for Booth to fluster the therapist with another one of his scathing remarks. However, when she cast an expectant look in her partner's direction, Booth no longer looked angry. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, and he wouldn't meet her eyes. Judging from her partner's pained expression, Sweet's idiotic rambling had made him question his worth, and suddenly she was fuming at the therapist's audacity. Paying no heed to her injuries, she flung open the door, grabbing Sweets by the scruff of his collar before he could even begin to react. With little effort, she threw him against the wall directly opposite Booth's apartment, and the young therapist stared at her with equal measures of shock and terror.

Booth had to stop himself from dissolving into laughter as he watched Sweets hold out the bouquet of flowers in an almost comical attempt to ward off Bones' angry advances. However, his amusement quickly turned to concern when his partner seized the peace offering from the therapist's tremulous grasp and threw the bouquet to the floor, stamping on it unrepentantly.

"Whoah, steady on there, Bones!"

Sweets hadn't expected Booth to come to his rescue, and he sighed with relief when the FBI Agent emerged from his apartment to restrain Dr Brennan from inflicting any more damage. As Sweets looked on with his mouth hanging open, Booth wrapped his arms around his partner, pulling her close and whispering what he hoped were placating words into the anthropologist's ear. To his surprise, Doctor Brennan didn't withdraw from the embrace; she just turned to gaze at Sweets defiantly.

"Booth's right, you are a clueless son of a bitch."

Sweets was taken aback by the venom in her voice, and it stung him more than he was willing to admit. It hadn't been an easy process, but he liked to think that he had forged a tenuous connection with the difficult duo. Now his efforts appeared to have been in vain. "Dr Brennan, I never intended to anger you with my observations, I just thought – "

"Well, you thought wrong," Brennan interjected, her eyes narrowing with antipathy. "And let me tell you something right now, Dr Sweets." She took a deep breath, tightening her grip on her partner's arm. "Booth is the most caring, sensitive and understanding man that I've ever had the privilege to meet and he is PERFECTLY adept at conveying his own feelings, as well as dealing with mine. If I were going to confide in anyone, about anything, it would be Booth's door that I'd be knocking on - don't doubt that for a second. He is my BEST FRIEND, and just because YOU only ever see us in a professional capacity, doesn't mean to say that we can't interact on a personal level, too. Booth is an EXCELLENT listener, and no matter how uncomfortable the subject matter makes him, I know he would never turn his back on me if I genuinely needed his support. EVEN when I lash out at him for no good reason." Brennan jabbed a finger in Sweets' general direction. "And if you EVER insinuate otherwise again, I will have no qualms about punching you in the face."

Sweets could do little more than nod in acquiescence, rapidly reassessing the nature of his patients' relationship. He knew that Agent Booth and Dr Brennan, despite their inconsequential bickering, had a lot of respect for one another, and he'd witnessed them leaping to each others' defence several times in the past - but never to such a dramatic extent. Dr Brennan's impassioned, emotional speech had left him dumbfounded, because he knew the reticent anthropologist prided herself on her stoic demeanour. After fifteen sessions of therapy, he still hadn't come close to cracking her shell, and he wasn't sure if he was ever going to recover from the shock of seeing her let down her guard in such a spectacular fashion. Sweets could easily discern from the stunned expression on Agent Booth's face that he hadn't been expecting her heartfelt revelations, either. The partners had yet to relinquish their hold on one another, and as he studied the dynamics of their tender embrace, Dr Lance Sweets was forced to acknowledge the truth in Dr Brennan's words. He was a clueless son of a bitch.

"Look guys, I'm sorry. Whatever you have going on here is obviously working well for you, and even though there are still a lot of things we need to discuss, I'm satisfied that my initial concerns, whilst certainly not unfounded, may have been… erroneous."

"Does that mean you're leaving now?"

Dr Brennan's ire didn't appear to have been assuaged by his apology, and Sweets regarded her beseechingly.

"Look, Dr Brennan, you're obviously pretty pissed with me right now, but for what it's worth, I was gutted when I heard about what happened to you. And please believe me when I say that I'm glad you've found some sense of solace in Agent Booth's company. I really am."

Booth whispered something to his partner, and she rolled her eyes at him, sighing.

"OK, Sweets, you're forgiven," Brennan muttered, not quite managing to sound sincere. "And I'm sorry that I pushed you against the wall and ruined your bouquet of flowers. It was very… considerate… of you to bring them for me in the first place."

"Yeah, don't take it personally, buddy," Booth reassured him, grinning sympathetically. "You know she has violent tendencies." He gestured pointedly to his nose, and Sweets bit back a smile.

"Well, thank you for apologising Dr Brennan. That was very… gracious… of you. And I know you've been through a lot in the last few days so, no hard feelings, OK?"

Brennan nodded, exhaling in relief when Sweets gave them a half-hearted wave and finally decided to make a hasty retreat, calling his goodbyes over his shoulder.

"Are you OK? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" Booth's hands were roving over her ribcage, and Brennan reached out to still them, giving her partner a reassuring smile.

"No, it felt surprisingly good, actually." Her smile evolved into a full-blow grin, and Booth burst into laughter.

"You are really something else, you know that? Seriously, Bones, did you see his _face_? I thought he was literally going to piss his pants at one point." Booth was clutching his stomach and gasping for breath, but he gradually regained his composure, regarding his partner with a mixture of apprehension and affection. "What you said… did you mean that, Bones? Because if you would rather be staying with Angela and Hodgins, then…"

"Booth, I'm perfectly happy where I am."

Brennan re-entered Booth's apartment, as if to prove a point, and then promptly wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him close and settling her head against his shoulder. As a general rule, Temperance wasn't a tactile person, and when men took it upon themselves to engulf her in a bear hug she invariably felt stifled in their sweaty embrace. With Booth, it was different. He melted against her, and their bodies seemed to mesh together seamlessly. He was sturdy, but tender, and he cradled her against him as though she was the most cherished thing on Earth. This was most definitely _not_ a 'guy hug,' because when her previous lovers had taken her in their arms, it had always seemed as though they were trying to crush the life out of her. Their hands had rested possessively on her hips, or roved downwards to cup her ass; always pulling her closer, always wanting more. She had reciprocated, of course, and had been naïve enough to think that satiating her sexual desires would fill the void caused by the fundamentally selfish nature of her relationships. Now, she was beginning to consider things from a more enlightened perspective. Her lips came to rest in the general vicinity of her partner's ear, and she felt him shudder slightly as her breath swept across his cheek.

"I could get used to this," She murmured, echoing his earlier words, knowing that she was a coward not to have spoken them when she had previously been afforded the opportunity.

"Yeah?" Booth's eyes were brimming with hope, and he looked as though he couldn't decide whether to burst into laughter, or dissolve into tears.

Temperance nodded, smiling shyly. Her eyes widened slightly when Booth gently brushed his lips against her own, but the contact was so fleeting that she neither had the time to kiss him back, or pull away. That didn't, however, stop her stomach from contracting with pleasure, or alleviate the tingling sensation that was making her mouth burn with the desire for more. But Booth was too considerate to test her boundaries at the moment, and she could see that he was already wondering whether he had crossed an invisible line. She buried herself in his embrace, trying to convey through touch alone that she wasn't remotely repelled by his actions and, gradually, the erratic pounding of their hearts gave way to the languorous cadence of contentment.


	16. Chapter 16

**Please accept my apologies for the wait between updates. I aim for one a week, and feel suitably guilty for missing my self-imposed deadline! This chapter ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, but as I no longer have to devote the majority of my time to a monotonous and mind-numbing job, I promise not to leave you dangling for long! My productivity should be increasing tenfold from now on.**

**And please keep the reviews coming - they give me the will to soldier on!**

* * *

"Morning." Booth's lips instinctively quirked into a warm smile as Bones' eyelids fluttered open and settled on his unusually tranquil features. They had somehow ended up sharing the same pillow, but if his partner was unnerved by his proximity, she didn't show it. Booth inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, but in doing so realised that he was subconsciously waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which might explain why he had spent the last thirty minutes studying every nuance of his slumbering partner's flawless physique and beautiful features. At least then, when the novelty invariably wore off and Bones felt compelled to run away from their new-found intimacy, he could cling to the memories, if nothing else.

He had felt the prominent lump on the back of his partner's head, and Booth was now beginning to wonder whether the whack she had sustained had been more serious than the doctors initially surmised. He didn't expect Bones to be her usual self in the wake of such trauma, but that didn't mean that the changes in his partner's complex personality were any less noticeable. Sweets' cutting summation of his flaws last night had stung, but he had never expected Bones to leap to his defence in such a dramatic manner. It was the second time she had blown her top in as many days, and although her impassioned words had touched him more than he was willing to admit, they couldn't erase the nagging sense of doubt that was plaguing him. Unbridled emotion wasn't rational, and it therefore followed that the woman he had been living with for the last few days wasn't herself – which meant that he shouldn't be deluding _himself_ with visions of their very own 'happily ever after.'

Booth couldn't shake the feeling that, under any other circumstances, Bones would be deriding his lovesick declarations. Sure, his partner had hugged him a handful of times before, but her spontaneous embraces usually arose during extreme situations, when she couldn't contain her need for comfort and reassurance. Last night, she'd had no reason to be scared and he hadn't done anything to warrant her gratitude, but she had inexplicably launched herself into his arms and, even more bizarrely, had chosen to stay there for longer than he'd ever dared to hope for. In fact, she had gravitated towards him several times since they first began cohabiting, even going so far as to hint that his feelings might be reciprocated. And, whilst Booth wasn't self-deprecating enough to believe that his partner's intentions towards him were entirely platonic, he wasn't naïve enough to presume that all of his dreams were coming true, either.

This was, after all, the same woman who derided the institution of marriage, spouted statistics about the likelihood of infidelity, and thought relationships were all about satisfying her biological urges and then seamlessly moving on. He could see that her 'no strings' mentality, for the most part, was a front to prevent her from getting hurt and taking risks that she might live to regret, but he had to wonder whether she was capable of understanding that all consuming ache of love and longing. If he were to try and be objective, Booth could see the futility of investing his future happiness in a woman who was pre-programmed to run away from the complexity of human emotion – a woman who seemed to find him every bit as frustrating as she did fascinating. But trying to pretend that he wasn't hopelessly in love with her was equally as futile. He was staking everything on the assumption that the Temperance Brennan who was lying less than a foot away from him and smiling tenderly, the Temperance Brennan who instinctively snuggled up to him on the couch and was willing to let down her defences – however fleetingly, was here to stay. Because he didn't know if he could handle the alternative.

Brennan was starting to feel perturbed. Only moments ago, Booth's features had been completely relaxed, but now he appeared to have lapsed into some kind of doleful trance. She poked him gently in the ribs to draw him out of his melancholy reverie, and left her hand lingering lightly against his stomach.

"What are you thinking about?"

Booth was prudent enough to realise that if he wanted this arrangement to pan out for as long as possible, divulging his insecurities wasn't exactly advisable. "I was just wondering what to make for breakfast."

"Well, if your last attempts at rustling something up are anything to go by, I think I'll opt for cereal." Brennan laughed when her partner made a concerted effort to abandon his introspectiveness and stuck out his tongue. She rubbed her eyes to clear them of the early morning debris, noting that Booth already seemed wide-awake. "You look remarkably bright eyed and bushy tailed. How long have you been up?"

"Did you just use a metaphor, Bones? And in the right context, too?" Booth gave her an affectionate smile. "I'm so proud."

"What was it that Sweets said last night? _'Sarcasm is one of the most lame avoidance measures you can utilise.'_ Apparently there is the occasional pearl of wisdom amidst the crap he insists on spouting." Brennan's lips began to twitch. "So, how long have you been awake?"

"About half an hour or so. Why does it even matter?"

"Because I'd like to know exactly how long you've been lying there staring at me."

Bones' enquiry was delivered sotto voice, and Booth was unable to discern whether she was amused or angry. He blanched, before turning bright red. "Well, I don't know if _staring_ is really the right word. I mean, I must have blinked a couple of hundred times," He muttered, avoiding his partner's gaze and therefore remaining oblivious to the hurt that was beginning to pool in Temperance's eyes.

"How bad is it?"

"How bad is what?" Booth sounded genuinely confused.

"My face," Temperance clarified matter-of-factly, turning away from him to gaze at the ceiling. "I mean, it must be pretty bad to warrant that much attention."

"No!" Booth shook his head vehemently. "Bones, that's not why I was… that's not what I was…" Booth sighed, willing himself not to utter some kind of soppy platitude that would probably send his partner careering in the opposite direction. "There is nothing bad about your face, OK? The bruises are actually healing up pretty nicely. It's just that I don't often get to look at you without worrying that you - or someone else – is going to notice that my gaze is lingering for a little too long. I didn't mean to make you self-conscious or anything." Booth tentatively reached out, laying his hand against his partner's forearm. "Because really, Bones, you don't have anything to be self-conscious about."

No response was forthcoming, and Booth inwardly cringed, wondering if he had overstepped the mark. Still, Bones hadn't baulked yet, so he took that as a good sign and began to experimentally run the pad of his thumb against her wrist. "How are you feeling today, anyway?"

Temperance turned to face him again, looking thoughtful. "Much better, actually. Obviously I'm not up and about yet, but my ribs don't feel as tender and my range of movement is improving every day. I can breathe without any pain at all now, and the headaches have subsided, too."

"That's great, Bones." Booth grinned at her warmly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew that Bones would shortly be reclaiming her independence, and he had to wonder if he was going to be left out in the cold.

"The lump on the back of my head has pretty much disappeared as well." Temperance sat up, guiding Booth's hand to the area in question. "See?"

Booth gently ran his fingers over Bones' smooth scalp, smiling wryly. OK, so perhaps he had been a little paranoid in presuming that his partner's faculties had taken a temporary leave of absence. He hated feeling so unsure of himself. Booth wore his cocky belt buckle for a reason – he'd never doubted his abilities to maintain a relationship before, probably because he was rarely the one doing the chasing. As arrogant an assumption as it may be, he knew he could have his pick of women, but his integrity prevented him from becoming a player. He just wasn't the one night stand kind of guy. It took a lot for him to fall in love, but he wasn't afraid of commitment when the right woman came along. Unfortunately, they were few and far between. He used to think that Rebecca was as close to his ideal as he was ever going to get, but his feelings for Bones had made his former relationships seem little more than a compromise. The 'love' he thought he had felt before was negligible when compared to the magnitude of emotions that Bones could elicit within him. Over the last three years, Booth had come to the galling conclusion that he would never be able to love another woman with this much intensity; Bones was the be-all and end-all. But Temperance Brennan wasn't just any woman; she was one superlative after another – the smartest, most complicated, most infuriating, most beautiful, most engaging, most stubborn and most breathtaking creature he had ever encountered, and he had to wonder deep down whether he was worthy of her, and whether he could handle his partner in all her formidable glory. She made him feel clueless, and terrified; she forced him to over-analyse his motives and change his perspectives, and yet at the same time, he felt more at ease and more himself around her than he did with anyone else. Go figure.

Booth jumped slightly when his partner's soft moan penetrated through the haze of his thoughts, and he realised with a sense of alarm that his hands, seemingly of their own volition, had begun to massage her temples.

"I'm sorry, Bones. Did I hurt you?"

"No, not at all."

Temperance tugged her puzzled partner into a sitting position, gesturing for him to lean against the headboard. She rested her hands on Booth's knees and proceeded to part his muscular legs, swallowing her laughter as his eyes widened to comical proportions. Then she shuffled closer, settling herself between the appendages in question, before leaning backwards and using Booth's solid chest as a prop for her back.

Booth swallowed audibly as Temperance brought his hands upwards to rest against her shoulders. He was willing himself to remember his earlier misgivings about getting too addicted to this sense of familiarity, but he still couldn't repress the elated grin that stretched across his features. "You want me to carry on?"

Temperance nodded, barely perceptibly, and Booth wound his fingers through her silken hair, kneading her scalp gently, but firmly. He could feel the tension begin to dissipate as his partner's soft skin became more malleable, and he tried desperately hard to ignore her sporadic groans of contentment. As subdued as they were, the throaty little sounds were driving him to distraction, and he decried his partner's decision to nestle between his legs, as he knew she would immediately be able to sense his impending arousal. He gritted his teeth and soldiered on, gradually moving downwards and manipulating the flesh at the base of Bones' neck, memorising the delicate scent and smooth texture of her skin as he worked the stubborn knots into acquiescence. Someone must have been smiling down on him, because minutes later, Temperance's head was lolling against his shoulder, and she appeared to be sound asleep. The fact that Bones trusted him enough to surrender completely to his touch, the notion that he was able to bring her this kind of peace, made Booth's heart constrict with something that he couldn't even begin to explain, and he wrapped his arms around her, his fingers tracing circles lightly across her abdomen. His own eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, and he knew that if he fell asleep with her weight pressing against him like this he was going to pay the price, but something told him it would be worth it. Because if this bubble was destined to burst, then Booth was going to enjoy every second of being encased inside of it.

* * *

"Booth? I think somebody's at the door again." Temperance gently tapped the hand that was resting securely against her midriff, trying to coax her partner into wakefulness. She swivelled around to get a better view of his face just as Booth jerked back to reality, leaving their lips inches apart. Their eyes locked and she blushed shyly, before the persistent banging forced them into action. Temperance shifted away from her partner, pleased to discover that easing herself off the bed required a lot less effort than usual. Booth was quick to notice her improved gait, and gave her a teasing smile as they made their way towards the front door.

"Maybe I should consider a change in profession. I could make a lot more money as a masseur, you know."

"Why, what exactly did you do to me after I fell asleep? Because from what I remember, your hands weren't anywhere near my ribs."

Booth's mouth nearly hit the floor. "No! I… um… I would _never_…"

Brennan started to laugh. "Booth, relax. I'm kidding. I know you're far too honourable to molest me in my sleep. Although I have to concede that your technique is excellent. I was very impressed."

Booth nearly choked on his own saliva, and was thankfully saved from utter mortification by another round of firm knocks.

"Well, I think we can safely assume that it's not Sweets, unless he's feeling suicidal."

They both attempted to peer through the peephole simultaneously, laughing when their heads audibly clashed. However, when they saw who was standing in the hallway, tapping his foot impatiently, their smiles promptly faded. Booth's heart skipped a beat as he watched the mirth fade from Bones' features, replaced by a look that fell somewhere between the realms of horror and alarm.

Judging from his grave expression and the grim set of his jaw line, Deputy Director Cullen was not a happy man, and even to someone who had trouble discerning people's motives and intentions, it was painfully obvious that he hadn't come here for social niceties. Booth took one look at the envelope he was clutching and swore under his breath.

"Sweets must have spoken to him. He's going to split us up." Temperance was regarding her partner with an expression of utter desolation, and Booth shook his head violently, placing his hand on the small of Bones' back in an attempt to create some kind of invisible anchor.

"No, he's not." Booth's knuckles were white as they gripped the door handle, and his expression had taken on that dangerous, ferocious quality he only reserved for intimidating their most callous suspects. "He can't do that, Bones. Because there is no way in hell that I'm going to let him…"


	17. Chapter 17

**_Angst, ahoy! _**

**_I've been on a bit of a roll the last couple of days and managed to power through Chapter 17 far more quickly than I initially anticipated, so you lucky, lucky readers get two updates in as many days :-) I did promise I wouldn't leave you hanging on that cliff for long, so I thought I'd better post it straightaway instead of waiting until tomorrow night. _**

**_I'm going on holiday to my Gran's this weekend, which unfortunately means I'm not going to have access to a computer (or, alas, the Internet) until my return next Thursday. I'm going to aim to update again by the following Sunday, so please stay tuned. _**

**_Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews of the preceding chapter, and please, please, please let me know what you think of this one as well. Begging's not attractive, I know, but given the fact that I'm likely to put on a stone or two whilst I'm at my Gran's anyway (she's the best cook in the entire world), I figured it couldn't hurt. So, without further ado..._**

* * *

"Cullen, if you're going to say what I think you're going to say, then you can forget about it. Unless you want to walk out of here with my badge and my gun?" Booth squared his shoulders, facing his boss defiantly. His sombre expression clearly conveyed that he wasn't going to back down, and Brennan felt a surge of admiration for her partner. She knew how difficult it was for Booth to stand up to authority figures, especially considering how much of his life he had spent succumbing to them. Still, she hadn't expected him to impulsively jeopardise his career, and she placed her hand on his elbow, shaking her head cautiously. Booth loved his job almost as much as she did, and she wasn't about to watch him sacrifice his vocation on principle.

Booth regarded his partner intently, his eyes brimming with some untold emotion, and Temperance knew instinctively that her subtle warning was going to be steadfastly ignored.

"We come as a package, Cullen, and I'm telling you categorically that I will not work with anyone but Bones. She's the best in her field, and you could partner me with some hotshot who was top of their year at Quantico and a black belt in ten different martial arts, and I'd still think they were a monkey compared to the real thing."

Cullen was pretty sure that he had never witnessed a more loving look than the one Dr Brennan was currently sending in Agent Booth's direction. He wasn't sure whether to feel touched, or nauseated. "I'm not contesting Dr Brennan's credentials, Booth. I know we're lucky to have her."

"Yes, you are," Brennan informed him coldly, swallowing the lump that had inexplicably appeared in her throat. "But if you want the Jeffersonian's help on future cases, you might find we're a little less efficient without Booth's expertise and insight guiding our investigations."

"And God knows, the Squint Squad wouldn't be able to function without Bones at the helm, either." Booth wasn't used to receiving acclamation from his partner, and he tried desperately hard not to show how affected he was by her words. "I mean, seriously, Sir, I know you thought Bones was a hindrance when she first started out, but you should meet her second-in-command, Dr Addy. The guy's brilliant at what he does in the lab, but if you ever have to take him on a field trip, trust me - the word 'liability' will develop a whole new meaning." Booth snorted derisively to emphasise his point. "You've got the case file on Howard Epps stored away somewhere, right? You know, the nut job who broke out of prison and tried to wipe out the entire Squint Squad? Well, Zach was the one who set off the timer on a bomb, after I'd expressly told him not to touch it. You've really got to have your wits about you when that kid's around, otherwise the next thing you know, you're getting blown up."

"Booth!" Bones punched her partner lightly in the stomach. "That wasn't very nice."

"But true, nevertheless." Booth gave his partner a wry smile, before turning his attention back to his boss. "We've never even issued Bones with a weapon, but she's saved my ass on more than one occasion. She can handle herself better than most of the guys I've worked with, and I know she's always got my back. So, Sir, before you sever us in half, you might want to consider the fact that we're the best team you've got – "

"And how much of an idiot you'd have to be to piss on your own parade," Brennan interjected, scowling insolently and crossing her arms.

Booth couldn't withhold a short burst of laughter, despite the seriousness of the situation. "You know, you're really starting to get the hang of this whole metaphor thing, Bones."

"I'm a quick learner."

"Which is yet _another_ quality my traitorous excuse for a boss can add to your resume."

They shared a tense smile, and Cullen watched the interplay between them with barely concealed amusement, before regarding his Agent warily. "As moving as this display of mutual adoration is, you may as well save me the melodrama, because you're both jumping to conclusions. You're not being split up – at least not on a permanent basis. The Bureau just has a few conditions they'd like Dr Brennan to fulfil before she resumes her position. And before you subject me to another tirade, you should know that the decision is completely out of my hands. I just came by to give you the heads up, because I thought it was the decent thing to do."

"And you have no control over this whatsoever? You promised me that you wouldn't split us up." Booth's eyes were flashing with anger and betrayal, and he pointed an accusatory finger in his boss's direction. "You gave me your word."

"OK, I'm only going to say this one more time, Booth. We are _not_ splitting you up on a permanent basis. And I'm sorry, I truly am, but you have to be rational about this. It's a temporary measure, just until Dr Brennan is fully functional again."

"Fully functional?" Brennan echoed in outrage. "I'm not a cripple! My injuries have nearly healed. I'll be able to go back to work in a few days!"

"She's right, Cullen. She'll be back on her feet in no time, so I really don't see what the problem is."

"Don't push your luck, Booth, or else I might be forced to acknowledge the _gigantic_ problem being posed by your current living arrangements. I'm being gracious enough to overlook the fact that you're clearly sleeping together - for now. I love the pyjamas, by the way, Dr Brennan. And Booth, those boxers are very fetching."

"You don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about, Cullen."

"Is that right?" Cullen reached out, expertly removing four strands of Temperance's auburn hair from Booth's white vest. "I believe this is what we would refer to as 'cold, hard evidence,' Agent Booth."

Booth's eyes narrowed with faintly veiled distaste. "Cullen, don't start playing dumb to win a few brownie points with your boss. You already know how I feel about her."

Cullen nodded. "I do. And as I've said before, what you do outside of working hours is your own business, so unless you're shooting up heroin in your spare time, I have no interest in what goes on behind closed doors. I know the powers-that-be would be far from thrilled about this particular development, but I have no intention of being their informant. Right now, they're more worried about Dr Brennan's mental health than who she's screwing."

Brennan looked taken aback. "We are _not_ screwing, and there is _nothing_ wrong with my mental health!"

"I'm afraid that Dr Sweets begs to differ."

"Oh for God's sake!" Brennan exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Look, I don't deny that I was a little rough with him, but he was being deliberately inflammatory! If I hadn't snapped, Booth probably would have."

Booth nodded in assent. "He overstepped the mark, Sir. He came around here with the sole intention of riling us up. Bones barely touched him, this is just his petty attempt at revenge, which is precisely why you shouldn't be listening to a damn word he says."

Cullen's eyebrows rose considerably. "Actually, I wasn't aware that you two had been involved in an altercation with Dr Sweets. He neglected to divulge that particular piece of information." Cullen had to fight back the urge to laugh at the matching expressions of chagrin gracing the partners' features. "I think he was more concerned about what Dr Brennan might be contending with in the aftermath of her ordeal."

"I'm fine," Brennan ground out fiercely. "Why does everyone find that so hard to believe? Would you prefer me to be cowering in the corner and crying? Would I be fit for duty then? I mean, what do I have to do before I'm cleared for fieldwork?"

"Dr Sweets has recommended that you attend ten mandatory sessions of counselling – not with himself, you'll be pleased to know – before you are allowed to resume your relationship with the Bureau. And I'm afraid, Dr Brennan, that doesn't just mean that you're unable to participate in fieldwork, it means you can't work on our cases in any capacity until the psychiatrist gives the go-ahead."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Booth shook his head angrily, feeling his heart sink. He knew there was no way in hell his partner was going to agree to see a counsellor, and he couldn't bring himself to contemplate what that meant for their future.

"Are you actually encouraging me to wallow in self-pity?" Brennan demanded, looking genuinely bewildered. "Because anyone with a modicum of intellect could ascertain that work is the best kind of therapy for me. No matter how aggrieved I am about something, if I'm engaged in a case, then my problems fade into obscurity. Working with Booth helps me to focus on what's really important. My feelings don't matter when we're trying to track down a murderer before he finds his next victim."

"Dr Brennan, as ridiculously trite as this sounds, I'm going to regurgitate what Dr Sweets told me this morning." Cullen rolled his eyes, sighing with barely concealed exasperation. "You need to face up to your feelings before you can move on. Burying them somewhere in the back of your mind means you have no control over when they choose to spring forth, and that can be dangerous for everyone concerned. Do you understand that?"

"No, I don't, because I've been kidnapped and assaulted by a murderer before, not to mention buried alive, and you weren't particularly concerned with my welfare then." Brennan's tone was dripping with disdain. "Is there some kind of special FBI formula that you use to calculate exactly how many traumatic experiences it takes to send someone over the edge? Have I reached my quota or something?"

Cullen's patience threshold was rapidly beginning to wane. He had no idea how Booth could tolerate this endlessly infuriating woman. "Dr Brennan, don't be ridiculous. I know you're full of your own self-importance – " Cullen held out a hand to ward off Booth's protests to the contrary, "And I don't really care if it's warranted or not, because we have to treat you just like any other employee. Agent Booth has been subjected to a psychiatric evaluation before, and although he was just as reluctant as you to attend the sessions at first, he ultimately gained a great deal of insight from the experience."

"Oh, give me a break!" Brennan was practically yelling now, and she made no effort to control her anger. "Booth learnt that his gaudy socks and garish ties were his way of overcompensating for his lowly socio-economic background. Am I the only one who can grasp how utterly absurd that sounds?" She turned to gaze at her partner, who shrugged helplessly.

"I'm not going to lie, Bones. Gordon Gordon did help me to deal with Epps' death."

"Only because you were stupid enough to buy into his bullshit! Whose side are you on, anyway, Booth? Because if I remember rightly, you got sent to a shrink because you fired a loaded gun at a plastic clown, which was just minding it's own business sitting on top of an ice cream truck." Brennan's eyes fixed on her partner's, and Booth's stomach sank to his knees when he saw the animosity residing there. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but that was a completely irrational and reckless act. You can't be provoked by an inanimate object, Booth. You _deserved_ to be sent to a therapist. I, conversely, shot a man who was trying to _rape _me, which seems like a perfectly logical course of action, if you have any kind of instinct for self-preservation. So you'll have to forgive me if I fail to see how that makes me _mentally unbalanced_."

"Dr Brennan, we're not petitioning to have you sectioned, for God's sake. We're trying to help you. Are you honestly suggesting that you don't have flashbacks, that you aren't plagued by the occasional nightmare? Because it's nothing to be ashamed of. I've been there myself."

Brennan fell silent, and Booth could see that her hands were beginning to tremble. He inched forward, lacing a protective arm around her shoulders.

"What she's saying is that she can deal with them without the help of a virtual stranger. Right?" He nudged his partner, more than a little concerned by her suddenly listless expression.

"Well, I'm sorry Booth, but if she wants to work with you again, then she doesn't have a choice in the matter. Now rumour has it that you're a very smart woman, Dr Brennan, so I'm imploring you to make the right decision here. Am I booking you in to see Dr Cameron, or not?"

Brennan glowered at Cullen with as much antipathy as she could muster. "Do you honestly think you can intimidate me with some kind of half-assed ultimatum? Have you somehow forgotten that the percentage of unsolved murders has dropped by over 15 per cent since Booth and I started working together? You _need_ me, so if you aren't prepared to bend the rules, then it's your loss. You'll realise the error of your ways when the crime rate starts to soar, and by all means, think of me when you're filling out all that extra paperwork." Brennan shook her head in disbelief, letting out an aggrieved sigh, and Booth wasn't quick enough to intercept her before she turned to stalk in the direction of his bedroom, slamming the door violently behind her.

Booth placed his head in his hands and fought back the urge to scream.

"She'll come around," Cullen reassured him. "Just talk some sense into her. This really doesn't have to be a big deal." He reached out to rest a placating hand on his colleague's shoulder, and was taken aback when Booth forcibly pushed him away.

"You really have no fucking idea what you've just done, do you?" Booth advanced towards his boss, purposely invading his personal space until their breath was almost mingling. "I am _never_ going to forgive you for this." He drove a finger into his boss' chest to emphasise his point, his eyes blazing with hatred. "_Never._"

"Booth, there's only so much shit I'm willing to take from you and right now, you're on your last warning. Now, I'm going to leave before you say or do something you might regret, because I know that underneath all this macho bullshit, you love your job." Cullen eyeballed his colleague warningly. "And trust me, you really _don't_ want to lose it."

They stared each other down for what seemed like an eternity, until Booth finally looked away, his cheeks flushed with barely suppressed rage.

"Fine. Go."

Cullen nodded, tossing the envelope he had been clutching for the entire duration of their heated conversation onto the dining room table. "That just confirms everything in writing." He paused at the doorway, sighing loudly. "And please, for everyone's sake, get your act together, Booth."

* * *

"What are you doing?" Booth tried to keep his voice from showing the strain as his terrified eyes settled on the suitcase that was sprawled across his bed.

"What does it look like?" Brennan emerged from Booth's wardrobe with a crumpled pile of her clothing, dumping it unceremoniously into the suitcase before brushing past her partner en route to the bathroom. Booth stopped her in her tracks, laying his hands firmly on her shoulders.

"I'm not letting you leave until you tell me why you're going."

"Because I want to, OK, Booth? I don't have to justify myself to you." Brennan refused to meet her partner's penetrating gaze, but her attempts to shrug her way out of his grip were futile.

"Bones, I know this whole situation stinks, but is it really so much to ask? Ten lousy sessions of counselling aren't going to kill you. The shrink might even help you out if you swallow your pride and give her a chance." Booth gently tilted his partner's chin upwards, studying her face with eyes that had always been far too perceptive. "What are you so afraid of?"

Brennan glared at him defiantly. "I knew you'd do this. I knew you'd twist my refusal to be browbeaten by your clueless fucking boss _completely_ out of proportion - when really it's quite simple. I don't need a psychiatrist, I don't place any credence in psychology, and I am _not_ going to be blackmailed onto a therapist's couch. So I fail to see how fear factors into the equation."

"OK, Bones, I get the picture." Booth's temper was beginning to fray. "You were the victim of an attempted rape, you got battered beyond recognition and the highlight of it all was getting to see - firsthand - the effects of blowing someone's brains out, in all their bloody glory. But you're perfectly fine, right?" His voice was oozing with sarcasm, and Brennan flinched involuntarily. "You just get up, brush yourself off and move on. But aren't you just the tiniest bit terrified of the other issue here? You know, the one that involves us _never being able to work together again_?"

Brennan's eyes were blurring with tears, but there was no way she was going to let them fall. She kept her features schooled in contempt, folding her arms across her chest defensively. "So I'll go back to dealing with cases from limbo. I know you're not really interested in remains unless they're fresh from the kill, but everyone's got a family who needs to know the truth, right? Even if their sons and daughters weren't murdered by some deranged lunatic." Brennan could see what her partner was thinking, and it only increased her anger further. "It was enough for me before Booth, and it'll be enough for me again."

"But what about _us_, Bones?" Booth cried out in anguish, hurt beyond belief that his partner was completely oblivious to the focal point of his concern. "Doesn't our partnership mean anything to you? Don't _I_ mean anything to you? I just… I don't understand. It's always one step forwards and three steps back with you. Every time I think I've made some headway, you kick me to the curb. I mean, you told Sweets that you could talk to me about everything and anything, but that's complete and utter bullshit. You actively shut me out. I mean, I finally thought we had something good going on here, that you might actually be enjoying my company enough to want something vaguely resembling a relationship. But I guess I must have just hallucinated the whole thing. Because if you want to _get used to this_, Temperance, you can't run away every time we hit a rough patch. Or are you so much of a coward that you're just going to throw it all away for the sake of an easy life?"

Brennan was taken aback. "Booth, I never once suggested that this was going to become a permanent arrangement. I enjoyed staying with you; you've been excellent company, and of course I care about you and our partnership, but – "

"That's the whole point, Bones, there shouldn't _be_ a fucking 'but' at the end of that sentence!" Booth kicked the wardrobe closed as he made his way over to the windowsill. He figured if his attention was focused elsewhere, his partner wouldn't be able to see how close he was to tears.

"What do you _want _from me, Booth?"

Brennan's voice was a mixture of fury and desperation, and Booth shook his head sadly. "Clearly more than you're able to give." He saw the hurt emanating from his partner's eyes, and even though his own stomach was twisting in painful knots, he still couldn't bear to see her suffering. "Look, Bones, it's not your fault, OK? I was expecting too much from you, and I should have known better. In fact, I _did_ know better, but I guess for once in my life I just wanted my instincts to be wrong."

"Because only an idiot would fall for an emotional cripple like me, right?"

"That's not what I'm saying." Booth discreetly watched his partner fumbling with the zipper on her suitcase and, seeing how much her hands were trembling, he automatically reached out to help her. "Come on Bones, please don't go. Not like this. At least stay for lunch, and then I promise I'll drive you back home if you still want to leave this afternoon."

"What, so you can give me another lecture on what a selfish, heartless bitch I am? Just because I'm refusing to take a completely unnecessary course of action? I've already asked Angela to come and get me. She'll be here in a minute." Brennan forced her expression to remain impassive as she observed the look of utter desolation on her partner's weary face. "I think I'm going to get some fresh air and wait for her outside."

"OK, I get the message, Temperance. You can't possibly bear to be around me for another second. But before you hotfoot it out of here, I need you to know something." Booth's face visibly softened, and he risked giving his partner the barest hint of a smile. "You are my best friend, Bones, and no matter how much of a horse's ass you're being, you can always come to me if you need to talk. About anything. I can't promise that I'm always going to agree with you, but I can promise that I'll listen."

Brennan paused in the doorframe, biting her lip, which had inexplicably begun to tremble. Slowly, she turned around, facing her partner with eyes that said more than her lips ever could. "You're my best friend, too, Booth. Don't you know that by now? And you also happen to be the best Special Agent the FBI have on their books. Which is why I'm going to tell you to go back to work. At least that way one of us can make a difference."

Booth shook his head. "I meant what I said to Cullen, Bones. We're a team. Work isn't going to be the same without you."

Brennan rolled her eyes, sighing. "I'm not having this conversation again, Booth, so if that was a last ditch attempt to put me on a guilt trip, it's not going to work."

"OK, fine. I won't bother telling you that you're being stubborn for no good reason, because it's not like it's ever stopped you before." Booth hesitated, before crossing the room to envelop his partner in a tentative hug. He pulled her close, willing back the tears that were pricking at his eyes, and to his surprise, Bones leant into his embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

"You're a gigantic pain in my ass, Bones, but I'm going to miss having you around. Will you call me tonight, just to let me know that you're all right?" Booth swallowed the lump in his throat, before pulling back to study his partner's face intently. He just prayed to God that it wasn't going to be for the last time.

"I'll try," Temperance vowed, giving Booth an affectionate squeeze before she released him from her grasp. "Just don't wait up, OK?"

Booth nodded, smiling sadly as he lifted her suitcase off the bed, carrying it towards the door.

"Thanks." Brennan placed an awkward hand on her partner's forearm, wondering why her palms were sweating so profusely. "For everything."

"You're welcome." Booth opened the front door, gently capturing his partner's wrist before she had time to traverse the threshold. "Take care of yourself, Bones."

They stared at each other for a moment, two sets of eyes shining with emotions they could never hope to convey, until the recurring honking of a horn alerted them to Angela's arrival.

"I'd better go."

"Yeah." Booth realised he was wringing his hands, and promptly clasped them together. "Bye Bones," He whispered hoarsely, willing back the emotion until he had shut the front door firmly behind him. Seconds later, a flurry of dust was raining down on him and he gazed at the hole in his kitchen wall with an expression of utter nonchalance. He barely registered the pain chorusing through his clenched fist, instead opting to fall into a void of numbness. He was beginning to understand the benefits of blocking everything out. His partner had taught him well.


	18. Chapter 18

**_I'm back! Did you miss me? Most of this has been sitting on my hard drive since last Friday, but I managed to write the last segment this afternoon and thought I'd better post it ASAP. I hope this instalment isn't too depressing; it's very introspective, and given that the characters are wallowing in self-pity, quite downbeat. I really know how to sell myself, don't I? LOL. But it's still pretty riveting stuff (I hope!) and with any luck my first attempt at writing an entire scene devoted to Angela and Hodgins will liven things up..._**

**_Hopefully_****_ you'll like the way I've contrasted how Brennan and Booth are perceiving themselves and each other after their monumental fight in the preceding chapter. _****_My mantra at the moment is: 'absence makes the heart grow fonder,' so please bear that in mind at all times ;-)_**

**_And stay tuned this weekend for an inebriated Brennan... it's going to be a shocker!_**

**_PS - Please don't shoot me, but I actually kind of like Cam - providing she isn't rolling around on top of Booth, of course. I don't like the way she's perpetually portrayed as a one-dimensional villainess, so during her limited screen time, I hope to do her justice._**

**_PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!_**

**_Let the countdown begin..._**

* * *

**Day One**

Bones hadn't called, and Booth had made the conscious decision to stop agonising over the reasons why. It was far easier to conclude that his partner was a selfish bitch who was intentionally trying to drive him insane. Contrary to Brennan's advice, he had stayed awake until 4.45am, and it was sheer exhaustion that eventually forced him to collapse on top of his rumpled bed, clutching Temperance's pillow to his chest like a lovesick fool. Still, it was no substitute for the real thing, and he had slept fitfully, jerking awake every half an hour or so and feeling compelled to check his cell phone for new messages, even though he had deliberately set the ring tone to a deafening volume and placed the device on his bedside table. He had cradled that goddamn phone in his lap for five miserable hours this evening, staring blankly at his decimated kitchen wall because he was too scared of turning on the TV in case it distracted him from that all-important call. He knew that virtually every room in his house had a perfect signal, except for the bathroom, so he avoided drinking until his throat was parched and even resorted to awkwardly crossing his legs, until he realised how utterly pathetic he was being. Still, that didn't stop him from strategically placing his wad of keys on the table nearest to the front door - he didn't want to worry about locating them if he had to make a hasty departure, and he hadn't bothered changing into his nightclothes, either, because getting re-dressed could waste precious time. He should really have known better than to expect his obstinate partner to abruptly change her mind and decide that she needed him after all, but as darkness descended, he couldn't help but wonder if she was missing his presence enough to reconsider her hasty departure.

Apparently not. The hours ticked by in an excruciatingly slow manner, and at some point, Booth's concern evolved into anger. Bones could have called him to gloat about the fact that she was perfectly fine - anything was better than the unknown, but apparently she was incapable of extending even that dubious courtesy. Instead, she had purposely left him to ponder countless scenarios, which had ranged from him being written out of her life completely, to turning up at her apartment the following morning to discover that she had swallowed the entire contents of her medicine cabinet.

Thankfully, the dawning of a new day brought about a renewed sense of rationality. Booth knew that Angela was a strong willed woman who - given the circumstances - would never leave his partner to fend for herself. Even though Bones would probably have delivered a forceful and persuasive argument about why she didn't need a babysitter, Angela would have undoubtedly stayed with her regardless. That's just the kind of friend she was. The sensitive artist had been party to Temperance Brennan's secrets long before he had, and was equally as adept when it came to reading between the lines. She had seen beyond Bones' supposedly robotic demeanour and discovered the vulnerable and damaged human being within, and Booth found himself wondering how long it had taken her to discover the truth.

Walking in on Angela's heart-rending conversation with Bones during the Christmas lockdown had been a revelation for him. Booth had repeatedly berated Bones for refusing to partake in the yuletide festivities, but he'd barely stopped to consider the motives behind her sombre mood – and she hadn't shared them, either. Overhearing her conversation with Angela had left him shaken - it was the first time he'd ever seen her truly cry, and the first time he'd experienced an almost irrepressible urge to scoop her into his arms and kiss the pain away. What startled him more, though, was the realisation that Brennan hadn't been embarrassed about breaking down in front of Angela, she trusted her enough to be startlingly honest about her experiences and feelings. He, conversely, hadn't even dared to acknowledge the encounter because he knew how mortified his partner would be if he alluded to her moment of 'weakness.'

Understanding what made Bones tick was a gradual process. He had, like everyone else, initially presumed that Temperance Brennan was from another planet where being civil and engaging in compassionate human interaction was frowned upon. Thankfully, he occasionally had an epiphany where he was forced to acknowledge just how much pain his partner had to repress in order to function effectively. He had noticed, for example, the way her eyes glistened when Shaun Cook wrapped his tiny arms around her and revealed the identity of his foster brother's murderer. Those same eyes had shone a little too brightly at Maggie Schilling's murder trial, where the whole courtroom was given a poignant insight into just how much Bones really cared about her victims. And Booth would never forget the extent of his partner's outrage when he asked her to blackmail a terrified Hispanic woman into revealing the whereabouts of her husband. Bones' humanity had been all-too-apparent when she flat out refused to exacerbate the woman's fear by threatening to send her back to El Salvador - without her newborn baby. It was a moment when another person's feelings had mattered more to Bones than pursuing the truth, and no matter how pissed he was at her for potentially jeopardising his investigation, Booth couldn't help but be proud, too.

He liked to think that, over the years, he had replaced Angela as Brennan's principal shoulder to cry on, but what if Sweets was right – what if he had overestimated his ability to comfort her? After the incident with Shaun Cook, he had tried to talk to Bones about her time in foster care, but she had politely rebuffed him. _Some day, Booth, I'll tell you all about it. _She never had. There had been morsels thrown, here and there, but never anything concrete. He had apologised for his questionable tactics in securing a guilty verdict at Maggie Schilling's trial, but again, she had swept her feelings under the carpet. _I'd probably have done the same thing._And she had never once alluded to how much that bastard Stires had hurt her. Bones had broken down and sobbed on his shoulder after discovering the truth about her parent's identities, and his first instinct had been to tell her to shush, that everything was going to be all right. But what if she had needed to talk? What if a hug and a few trite words of reassurance were ultimately useless?

Maybe Angela _was_ a far better confidante than he could ever dream of being, and maybe Brennan had realised just how little he had to offer her in comparison. Yesterday morning, Booth had expressly told his partner that she was welcome to talk to him at anytime, about anything, but now he found himself wondering how true that really was. Clearly, Brennan didn't want to take him up on his offer, so maybe now was an ideal time to test his theory. It was going to take all the willpower he possessed, but Booth knew that the most effective way of gauging how much Bones wanted him in her life would be to sit back, do nothing, and see how long it took his stubborn ass of a partner to accept the olive branch he'd extended.

Decision made, he threw on his sweat pants, performed some cursory stretches, and set off on his morning run, leaving his cell phone lying on his bedside table.

* * *

**Day Two**

Angela had resorted to physically blocking the doorway in an attempt dissuade Brennan from going back to work, but there was no point in avoiding the inevitable. Temperance had donned a starched grey trouser suit, buttoned her light blue blouse up to the collar, and allowed her hair to dry naturally so that the curls framed her face, making the angles of her proud jaw line seem less severe. She didn't want to attract any attention to the bruises that were still residing there. She usually opted for a fresh-faced look and was - without a doubt - attractive enough to pull it off. Today, however, she rooted around in the back of her drawers until she found some liquid eyeliner, applying it liberally before daubing on some dark grey eye shadow. The effect was startling, and forced people to focus on the captivating colour of her irises, rather than the bloodshot sclera surrounding them. She arbitrarily dabbed concealer over her cheekbones to obscure the greenish tinge that was lingering there. Her injuries were undoubtedly fading, but not as fast as she would have liked. Still, Angela's impromptu wolf-whistle as she exited her bedroom instilled her with some much-needed confidence.

They travelled to the lab in virtual silence, and despite the fact that she had fought for the right to drive; Brennan couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness at she took her seat behind the wheel. It felt curiously odd not be relegated to the passenger seat, and she realised that, over time, Booth had forced her to acknowledge that their in-car camaraderie wasn't dependent on where she was sitting.

Angela kept glancing at her with what Temperance could only presume was a look of concern. She knew her friend was disappointed that she hadn't opened up to her last night, despite Angela's persistent attempts to prise all kinds of information out of her. Ever since Temperance had spontaneously burst into tears after leaving Booth's apartment, the questions had been raining down on her without reprieve, and it was taking all of her resolve not to snap. Unlike her partner, her best friend didn't seem to grasp when it might be advisable to shut up and give her some space, and she had eventually been forced to relay what happened with Cullen that morning, and her ensuing argument with Booth. Angela had engulfed her in a hug that left her feeling strangely hollow, and then after cooing the customary reassurances, she'd had the audacity to tell her that Booth was right!

Much to Temperance's consternation, her best friend had then insisted on spending the night curled up besides her in bed. If she was honest with herself, Brennan had been grateful for the distraction, but as she led there listening to her friend babble on about what had been happening at the lab in her absence, all she could think about was how much she enjoyed her moments of quietude with Booth, because she knew she didn't have to speak for him to understand what she was thinking.

Her hands were trembling slightly as she pulled into her parking space and exited the vehicle, and Angela must have noticed because she took her hand and squeezed it tightly, telling her things were going to be fine. Traversing the familiar corridors of the Jeffersonian may have brought her a sense of peace, if the entire workforce wasn't intent on following her progress. She kept her chin held high, defiantly meeting their curious gazes – the most effective method of getting them to rapidly look away again.

The welcome she received from her team was no better or worse than she'd anticipated. She hated the scrutiny, but knew she would have to endure it before they could return to some vague sense of normality.

Hodgins engulfed her in a bone-crushing bear hug, as if to convey that he would never perceive her as being weak or fragile, and she appreciated the sentiment until he clapped her on the back and inadvertently struck one of her still-tender ribs. She repressed her wince, giving him a warm smile, and he leant close to her, making some discreet allusion to their experience with the gravedigger and telling her that she could always talk to him, because he understood something of what she was going through. She nodded in what she hoped was an appreciative manner, knowing she would never take him up on his offer.

Zach approached her awkwardly, and she impulsively ruffled his hair, knowing how uneasy the whole situation must be making him. He blushed, and patted her gently on the shoulder, before proudly informing her that the FBI had asked him to personally assist on a murder investigation. Hodgins and Angela hissed at him in simultaneous disapproval, leaving Zach looking utterly bewildered, but Brennan swallowed the lump in her throat and offered him her congratulations.

Dr Saroyan had been hovering in the background, watching the drama unfold, and Brennan was more than relieved when she ordered everyone back to work. She kept a smile plastered to her face for as long as possible and then promptly headed towards her office to seek some much-needed sanctuary, sighing in relief as she closed the door firmly behind her. She hadn't noticed that her boss was following her until Cam entered the room in a sudden rush of motion, causing her to physically jump. Her attractive boss sat on the edge of her desk, regarding her with astute eyes.

"You're looking well, Dr Brennan, but don't think for a minute that you're fooling me with the heavy make up and upbeat attitude."

Brennan opened her mouth to voice her protests, but was stunned into silence when Cam advanced towards her and reached for her hand, tenderly tracing the outline of her still-bruised knuckles.

"Now, I'm not going to send you home, because I know how much you need to be here right now, but if you need anything, and I mean _anything_, come and see me. No questions asked, OK?"

They stared at each other intently, until eventually Brennan nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly.

"Thank you, Camille."

"You're welcome."

They nodded at each other almost imperceptibly, and Dr Saroyan cleared her throat, exiting the room almost as quickly as she had entered it.

Brennan deposited her handbag on her couch and shrugged her way out of her suit jacket, wondering whether Booth had taken her advice and gone back to work today, too. Impulsively, she reached for her cell phone, swallowing her disappointment when she saw that there were no icons flashing on her screen to indicate a missed call or new message. Booth was probably trying to punish her for jeopardising their partnership, but if he thought that studiously ignoring her was going to make her reconsider her position, then he was vastly mistaken. Two could play that game.

* * *

**Day Three**

"You have that look on your face again."

Angela smiled innocently at her partner. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Hodgins sighed, taking a seat besides his co-worker and leaning over her shoulder in an attempt to see what kind of cunning plan she was devising with the assistance of her cell phone. "Look, Ange, whatever's going on between Brennan and Booth, I really don't think we should interfere. This isn't just one of their petty little spats. Brennan is really hurting, and you'll never forgive yourself if you wind up making things worse for her."

Angela rolled her eyes indulgently. "Hodgins, trust me, I know what I'm doing."

Jack regarded her intently. "Are you sure?"

"I am abso-freakin-lutely positive! I'm just appealing to Booth's good old-fashioned sense of Catholic guilt, that's all."

Angela's mischievous grin was, as always, contagious, and Hodgins couldn't help but be intrigued. "And how exactly do you propose to do that?"

Angela turned to face her boyfriend, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Oh come on, Ange," Hodgins implored, leaning a little closer. "You can't get a guy all riled up and then not deliver the goods."

"Sweetie, when have I _ever_ failed to deliver the goods?"

"Touché." Hodgins suddenly found himself grinning from ear to ear, and he lightly fingered the sleeve of his partner's form fitting jacket. "Now, are you going to show me what that wonderful mind of yours has been conjuring up, or are you going to make me beg?"

Angela laughed, lightly slapping away the hand that was gradually working its way beneath the hem of her skirt. "You'd better stop with the innuendo or else we're going to end up in the storage closet before you get to play my very own, patented version of _'spot the difference.'_"

Hodgins raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that something we should be doing _inside_ the storage closet?"

Angela shook her head, her laughter intensifying. "You're incorrigible." She flipped open her cell phone, her graceful fingers effortlessly moving over the keys, and then held out the screen for her partner's inspection. "Look at this picture, Jack."

Hodgins regarded the high-resolution image of Brennan and Booth with a wistful smile. Booth was leaning over Brennan's shoulder, their bodies a hair's breath away from touching, and although his intention had clearly been to inspect the bone she was holding up to the light for his perusal, Booth must have chosen that moment to crack one of his endlessly inappropriate jokes, because he seemed to be gazing adoringly at his partner in a bid to gauge her reaction. Brennan had turned to look at him, and the camera had immortalised her indulgent half-smile, but it was the way her eyes were shining with barely suppressed merriment that really gave the game away. They looked like a couple who were hopelessly in love, and were clearly so enchanted with one another that they had remained oblivious to Angela's impish intentions.

"OK, so that's actually pretty adorable," Hodgins admitted, inwardly wondering when he had started to adopt his partner's vocabulary. "When did you take it?"

"A couple of months ago." The novelty of that oh-so-revealing image was never going to wear off as far as Angela was concerned, and she stared at the picture for a few moments herself, before smiling triumphantly. "Don't you think that Brennan looks really happy in this photo? I mean she's actually like _glowing_ or something."

"Mmmm…" Hodgins conceded, his brow beginning to furrow. "But where exactly is this going, Ange?"

Angela bit her lip in concentration, pressing a few more buttons on the keypad before again holding out the phone for Hodgins's examination. "OK, and here we have exhibit number two. I took it this morning. What do you think?"

Angela had captured Brennan sitting at her desk and uncharacteristically gazing into space. His boss looked surprisingly gaunt without her shapeless jacket obscuring her slender physique, and Brennan's mouth was down-turned, her sunken eyes speaking of unimaginable sorrow. "I think that's the textbook definition of 'depressed,'" Hodgins concluded, the concern he was already feeling for his boss immediately amplifying.

"Exactly!" Angela exclaimed victoriously. "I'm working on a 'then' and 'now' theme here."

"So you're going to send those pictures to Booth in the hope that he'll realise Brennan's completely miserable without him?"

"I knew there was a reason why I picked you above all others, Hodgie." Angela glanced surreptitiously around the lab, before grabbing her partner's lapels and pulling him into a smouldering kiss. After a few moments, she withdrew from the embrace, breathing heavily and giving Jack her most sultry attempt at a smile. "And now you can tell me how ingenious I am."

Hodgins was still reeling from the effects of the impromptu kiss and willed his heart to reclaim its normal rhythm before responding. "Look, I'm not denying that it's a great idea Ange, and I know that Brennan's probably missing the G-man like crazy, but that can't be the only thing driving her to the brink of depression. Or have you forgotten the bigger issue here?"

"Hodgins, trust me, there is no way Brennan is even going to _begin_ dealing with the bigger issues until she's back in Booth's arms." Angela's eyes began to cloud with tears of empathy. "I mean, if you could have seen her yesterday. She came storming out of his apartment like she didn't give a damn, got into the car with her head held high, and then as soon as I drove around the block, she just burst into tears and cried her heart out all the way home. I don't think she even knew why she was so upset. _Someone's_ got to help her wake up and realise that love is in the air, and she can't do that if lover boy is playing hard to get."

Hodgins sighed in defeat, before placing the cell phone gently in his partner's hands. "OK, fine. Do it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, go for it. I mean, if someone sent me a picture of you looking like that, then I know I'd be doing everything in my power to cheer you up, so really, what's the worse that could happen?"

Angela considered this for a moment, before nodding resolutely. "You're right. OK, I'm sending it." She squeezed her partner's hand tightly, and they waited in tense silence for over eight minutes before her cell phone emitted a short buzz in response.

Angela shrieked with barely suppressed glee, snatching the device from the autopsy table and fumbling to access her new messages.

Hodgins took one look at her crestfallen face and knew that their plan had backfired disastrously. He wrapped his arms around his partner's slender waist, peering over her shoulder. "What does it say?"

"It says '_nice try, Ange, but if she needs me, she knows where to find me_.'" Angela let out an uninhibited groan of frustration. "Are these two actually trying to send each other to an early grave? I mean, why do they have to be so goddamned stubborn?" She threw her cell phone back into her handbag, burying her head in her hands, and Hodgins pulled her close, his well-groomed beard lightly tickling her cheek.

"Hey, come on. It's going to be OK."

Angela was almost on the verge of tears. "No, it's _not_. I can't stand seeing her like this, Jack. She won't even talk to me. Do you have any idea how worried I am about her? I just… I don't know what to do!"

Hodgins pressed his lips against his partner's soft mouth, kissing her tenderly in a futile attempt at consolation. "We'll think of something, OK? I promise. But for now, they're just going to have to stew in their own stupidity. There's nothing we can do until they're at least prepared to take some baby steps on their own."

**Day Four**

Brennan had been exceptionally productive today, and had managed the admirable feat of reconstructing and identifying four separate individuals, one of whom had been lying in limbo for the last twelve years. She had been somewhat disheartened to discover that only two of the cadavers had living relatives, but she reassured herself that, contrary to what Booth had previously suggested, that didn't make this task a redundant exercise. Two families were at last going to be able to bury the remains of their loved ones, and she had given two nameless, faceless men their identities back, as well as determining their cause of death.

She knew she had earned the right to relax this evening, but when Angela stuck her head around the door at 8.30pm, petitioning for her to go home, Temperance flatly refused. Angela had vowed to stay with her until she reconsidered, and Brennan had eventually been forced to yell at her friend to leave. There was no way she was willing to endure another evening of probing questions and sympathetic looks. Angela had eventually been cowed into compliance, but not before dumping a nuked vegetable lasagne onto Temperance's desk and demanding that she eat it immediately. Brennan had barely touched the food, and now it had congealed into a cold, hard, unappetising lump of goo.

She was experiencing a disconcerting sense of uneasiness, and for some reason felt as though a fundamental part of her was missing. She used to experience an immeasurable sense of satisfaction from piecing together remains – she very rarely encountered a skeleton in its entirety, so it was all about figuring out what went where and occasionally, which part belonged to whom. It was a phenomenally difficult task; a skill that had taken years to master and, usually, it never failed to get her adrenalin pumping. Today, however, the process had seemed oddly monotonous. There was no sense of urgency behind her actions; someone's life wasn't hanging in the balance whilst she searched for the discreet, but vital clues that only she was able to perceive. She wasn't accumulating irrefutable evidence that would result in a conviction that could never be quashed, nor was she trying to identify a victim or find a murder weapon. She'd had no cause to seek Hodgins' assistance in finding the location of a killer's lair, and the Angelator had remained in hibernation because mapping out a probable sequence of events wasn't necessary when the answer was staring you right in the face.

For so many years, Brennan's job had revolved around vindicating those who were already dead. She could do nothing to change their unfortunate fate, but she could bring the truth to light and ease her social conscience in the process. She used to think that was enough. But Booth had taught her that she could use her skills to _save_ lives, too, and Temperance was gradually beginning to realise how much it meant to her to be able to make a difference to the living, as well as the dead. It made her life seem a hell of a lot less morbid and infinitely more worthwhile.

She had spent the last hour sitting in front of a blank computer screen, but inspiration evaded her, probably because she was wondering whether her hobby was destined to become her full-time occupation. Temperance didn't know if she could come to the lab every day and be relegated to the sidelines, watching the team she had expertly trained solving a mystery all of their own, without being able to offer her input. She knew that if she interfered in any future FBI investigations without the Bureau's express consent, the evidence could be rendered inadmissible, and a confrontation with the formidable Caroline Julian was the last thing she needed right now.

What Temperance really wanted to do was curl up on her couch and cry, but she instead found her eyes gravitating towards the bottle of scotch lying on her bookcase. It was nearly full; in fact she had only really bought it for Booth's benefit. She knew that her partner occasionally resorted to drinking copious amounts of alcohol after a particularly difficult case, and although she didn't want to encourage his habit, she couldn't deny that Booth made an endearing drunk. She remembered the last time they had 'done shots' together, it was the first time she had ever permitted herself to become truly inebriated, and although she had felt like crap the next morning, it still wasn't enough to eradicate the memory of how nice it had been to surrender her inhibitions and laugh freely with her partner. They had giggled like school children during the taxi ride home, and for some inane reason they had decided to take the stairs back to Temperance's apartment, leaning heavily on each other to prevent the other from falling to their inevitable death. Once they had reached her doorway, Booth had hugged her for five whole minutes, repeatedly saying his goodbyes, before he remembered that he hadn't told the taxi driver to wait. Temperance had laughed hysterically at the look on his face when realisation dawned, and hadn't thought twice about inviting her partner to sleep on her couch. Then she had hugged him for ten whole minutes before finally saying goodnight.

Yes, being drunk had felt surprisingly good, and now Temperance reached decisively for the bottle of scotch, taking a healthy swig and finding herself gagging in the aftermath. For some inexplicable reason, that caused her to recall the horrific sensation of Billy Mark's blood pooling in her throat, and she promptly took another sizeable gulp of the pungent liquid, hoping that the burning sensation would chase the unwelcome memory away.

TBC...


	19. Chapter 19

**_This chapter inadvertently evolved into a public service announcement promoting teetotalism LOL. _**

**_I suppose I should give you an advance warning - don't be lured into a false sense of security! ;-) I'm hoping that you'll laugh, but you may possibly have cause to cry, too. There is definitely going to be a happy ending, I promise, but Brennan and Booth still have a lot of issues to work through, and I can only plead with you not to hate me in the interim!_**

**_And this is a shameless plug, but the Pussycat Dolls thing is an allusion to one of the many Brennan & Booth themed music videos I've made over on youtube - the link is on my profile. _****_If you're in need of an antidote after the angst in this chapter, please check them out. Most of them are fluff personified! _**

**_As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, so let me know what you think..._**

* * *

Booth's thoughts had barely strayed from the images Angela had sent him yesterday morning. The first picture had made him smile instinctively - Brennan's rare displays of affection always made him feel suffused in warmth, and the way her eyes twinkled as they appraised him invariably ignited a fire that kindled deep within the recesses of his heart and occasionally - depending on the context - started a slow burn in his groin. The second picture had, however, promptly doused the flames. He had studied Brennan's forlorn expression with a furrowed brow, and even if Angela hadn't expressly told him to spot the difference, he knew what she was trying to tell him. Brennan was hurting, and he was both the remedy and the cause. His first instinct was to run over to the lab, to do everything in his power to entice Bones back from the brink of despair, but coaxing a smile out of his partner and restoring the spark to her lifeless eyes was not going to be easy – Angela's harrowing tableau was a testimony to that fact. Brennan had been through hell, but to some extent she was deliberately hindering her own recovery. She'd told Cullen that work was the most effective means of drowning her sorrows, so Booth failed to understand why she wasn't willing to do what was necessary to reclaim her tenure with the FBI. It was self-defeatist, and despite her insistence to the contrary, Booth knew that Bones could never be content if she was confined to the lab and forced to work on obsolete cases. Temperance needed time to realise how much she missed her job – and how much she missed _him_ – before he allowed his concern to propel him in her direction. Booth had made a vow, and he planned on keeping it, even if it made his stomach clench in protest and his throat swell so tightly that he could barely swallow his food.

He had made the questionable decision to go to bed at 9pm this evening, hoping that sleep would alleviate the frenetic churning of his thoughts. Instead, he found himself lying awake for hours, plagued by insomnia, and when exhaustion finally claimed him, Booth's dreams were a fractured tapestry of heart-rending images and disconsolate sounds. No matter how desperate his partner's screams were - no matter how brokenly she sobbed - he never seemed to be able to reach her in time.

* * *

It was 2am when Booth's cell phone lit up like a beacon and began to vibrate persistently. He voiced his protests in the form of an unintelligible grunt, placing his pillow over his head to drown out the ridiculously shrill ring tone, but then the realisation of who might be calling him at this ungodly hour abruptly forced him into wakefulness. He sat up so quickly that he was assailed by a bout of light-headedness, and he groped around frantically in the darkness before capturing the cell phone in his shaking hands.

Angela's name was flashing brightly on the illuminated screen, and Booth was too terrified to bother with pleasantries.

"What's wrong, Ange?"

"Booth, don't panic, OK, but you need to get over to the Jeffersonian. Like, right now."

Booth's heart momentarily stopped beating, and he flicked on his bedside lamp, stumbling out of bed and trapping the cell phone between his ear and shoulder whilst he hastily got dressed. "Why, what's happened?"

Angela couldn't help but smile - Booth's voice had virtually raised an octave under the weight of his concern. "The love of your life decided to drown her sorrows in a bucketful of scotch and I'm having a little bit of trouble extricating her from the floor all by myself."

"Oh my God, is she OK?" Booth shrugged his way into his jacket, forcing his feet into a worn pair of sneakers without bothering to untie the laces. "Is she conscious?"

"Oh yeah, she's conscious all right. In fact, she's decided to put on a one-woman show. Listen to this." Angela held her cell phone away from her ear, and Booth's eyebrows rose to never-before-seen proportions when he heard his partner launch into a rousing rendition of… _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun?_

"Are you sure she hasn't taken any pills?"

In spite of herself, Angela started to laugh. "Sweetie, trust me, this is an entirely ethanol-induced high."

"Is that Booth?" Temperance suddenly demanded, snatching the phone out of her friend's grasp. "Booth, is that you?"

A grin was gradually beginning to spread its way across Booth's features. "Yeah, Bones, it's me. How are you doing there?"

"Oh, I'm good. I'm fine," Temperance reassured him, sounding uncharacteristically perky. "How are you?"

Booth's grin widened still further. "Getting better every minute, Bones. Do you want me to come over there and pick you up?"

Temperance frowned, seriously considering the question. "That depends. Are you still mad at me? Because I'm not getting in the car if you're just going to blow your top and yell at me all the way home."

Booth shook his head amusedly, even though he knew Bones couldn't see the gesture. "No, Bones. We're good. I promise I'm not going to yell at you, OK?" Booth rolled his eyes, feeling as though he was conversing with a three-year-old.

"Good, because although I find our bickering rather… shhtimulating… I don't like it when we fight like..." Brennan's brow furrowed in concentration, "What's the expression? Cat and hog?"

"Cat and _dog_, Sweetie," Angela interjected, giggling.

Brennan nodded enthusiastically. "You know, that actually makes sense, because it's very unlikely that a cat would encounter a hog in its - "

"OK Bones, we get the picture. And I don't like fighting with you, either." Booth swallowed the prominent lump in his throat, and then started to chuckle as he imagined Angela gleefully rubbing her hands in the background. "Listen, Bones, I'll be over in second, so try not to give Angela too much of a hard time until I get there, OK? Can you put her back on a minute?"

He heard some nondescript rustling, and cursed at the deafening thud that suddenly reverberated through the receiver, hearing Temperance giggling and muttering something about impaired coordination.

"OK, it was dropped from a great height, but it's still intact." Angela sighed, patting Brennan consolingly on the head to reassure her that she wasn't really angry.

"Ange, exactly how bad is she?"

"Well, she's bearing up remarkably well considering she seems to have lost control of her limbs, but as for the likelihood of her puking all over your SUV – well, I'm not making any promises."

"And remind me again why I'm the one on mopping up duty?"

Angela grinned broadly. "Because she needs a big strong hunk of a man to carry her over the threshold and dump her unceremoniously onto her bed."

"_Ooooo…"_ Temperance murmured enthusiastically, looking entirely too enthralled at the prospect.

Angela couldn't contain her peals of laughter as she heard Booth try to mask his splutter of embarrassment with a cough.

"Don't worry, Booth, I'll protect you. But just hurry up, OK? I don't want her to pass out before you get the chance to see her live in concert."

Brennan was an intelligent woman, and obligingly took her cue.

"DON'T YOU WISH YOUR GIRLFRIEND WAS HOT LIKE ME?"

"Oh my God, Angela. How does she even _know_ that song?" Booth was concerned about his partner's motives for overdosing on a substance she rarely sampled, but he was no longer in any position to deny the utter hilarity of the situation. He laughed uproariously all the way to the Jeffersonian, realising how much he needed the outlet.

* * *

"Booth!" Brennan's squeal of delight impressed even the likes of Angela. She stumbled towards her partner as quickly as her lead-like limbs would allow her to, launching herself at Booth with such unbridled force that she sent him careering onto her couch. Booth caught her in his arms as she fell awkwardly on top of him, and Brennan wasted no time in gracelessly straddling her partner's lap, wrapping her arms around him and sighing contentedly as she nestled against his shoulder. Booth blushed to the roots of his hair, and gave Angela a withering look as she discreetly attempted to reach for her cell phone.

"Don't even think about it, Ange. We're not fodder for your scrapbook."

"Fine," Angela conceded reluctantly, her delighted grin belying the petulance in her tone, "I just wanted her to see how unbelievably cute you two look together, because there is no way she's going to remember this tomorrow."

Despite his mortification, Booth's arms were quick to encircle Brennan's waist, and he made no effort to extricate himself from her oppressive embrace. "You're going to feel like absolute crap in the morning, Bones. You realise that, right?"

"But I feel pretty good right now," Brennan countered, attempting to focus on her partner's inexplicably hazy features. "See, Booth, I don't need to see a shrink. Alcohol can solve all of my problems. I only drank about this much – " She held her fingers about six inches apart, "And the pain just went away. I know I've always said that I don't believe in magic, but Booth, it _really works_."

Bones regarded her partner with wide, earnest eyes, and Booth didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I guess there's no point in lecturing you right now, because it's just going to go in one ear and out the other, but alcohol is only a temporary fix, Bones." Booth blinked when his partner attempted to smooth out the creases in his forehead with her thumb, nearly taking out his eye in the process. "If you carry on like this we're going to be sending you to a shrink _and_ to Alcoholics Anonymous."

Brennan's good humour evaporated within a matter of milliseconds. "For God's sake, aren't I allowed to have _any_ fun?" She splayed her arms dramatically, looking imploringly at Angela. "Why does everyone want me to be miserable? Don't I deserve to be happy?" She stared at her hands, and her next question was barely audible. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing." Booth saw Angela's eyes welling with empathetic tears and decided to answer the question for her. He cradled his partner's head in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Do you remember what I said to you in the diner a couple of months ago? You're not a bad anything, Bones. You did nothing wrong."

Brennan nodded, easily recalling the heart-warming remark Booth had made to her earlier on this year. He always knew the right thing to say, and she never doubted his sincerity. In fact, she was starting to feel better already, and could barely remember what she had been griping about in the first place. Now, all of her attention was focused on Booth's benevolent brown eyes, which seemed to be studying her face with rapt fascination, and she blinked several times in an attempt to clear her vision, wanting to memorise his attractive features in all of their well-structured splendour.

For some reason, her gaze honed in on Booth's lips, and she had a fleeting memory of how incredible they had felt when pressed against her own. Kissing him under the mistletoe had been surprisingly pleasurable, but it had opened up the possibility for so much more. The encounter had been unnecessarily awkward thanks to Caroline Julian's unwelcome presence, but the underlying passion had been there and for the first time in her life, Temperance had pulled away from a kiss feeling completely disorientated. Why, then, had she waited so long to reclaim that sensation? Although Booth had initiated their last kiss, as soon as he realised that she'd registered the contact he had promptly pulled away again. Suddenly, an idea occurred to her, and her smile returned with a vengeance. Maybe Booth was like Sully. Maybe he was waiting for her to make the first move. She knew it wasn't the social norm, but for some reason, that mattered to her even less than usual.

Angela was happily observing the electricity crackling between her favourite lovebirds-in-denial, but she gasped out loud when Brennan suddenly seized Booth by the scruff of his collar, running the tip of her tongue along his lower lip before kissing him with an impressive medley of tenderness and hunger. Booth froze, and Angela estimated that it took him about three and a half seconds to overcome the initial shock and unseal his pursed lips. Brennan chose that particular moment to back off and take a breath, and Booth looked at her intently before she leant towards him again. Angela's jaw dropped open in surprise when the prudish Agent threw caution to the wind and responded to the ensuing kiss with unexpected enthusiasm – apparently Brennan's technique was skilful enough to make Booth forget that she was even in the room. For seven blissful seconds, Angela held her breath and watched Brennan and Booth lock lips over and over again, marvelling at their effortless compatibility. Then Booth brought his hand up to caress the back of Brennan's neck, and Temperance made the dire mistake of moaning appreciatively whilst simultaneously attempting to add her tongue into the equation.

Booth's eyes widened, and he returned to reality with what should have been an audible thud, desperately trying to extricate himself from the heated embrace. He glanced at Angela with a look of panic on his face, struggling to pull free of his partner's grasp, but failing miserably because Temperance's legs were resolutely pinning him in place. He mumbled his protests as she continued to pepper him with affectionate kisses, and as much as she wanted to intervene, Angela just couldn't bring herself to break them apart. Booth had to say 'stop' seven times before Brennan showed any signs of listening, and eventually he resorted to gently shaking her to her senses.

"I said no, Bones!" Booth's eyes were still hooded with desire, but he ignored his arousal and gently swept Brennan's hair away from her face. "I am _not_ taking advantage of you. Not like this. You're too drunk to know what you're doing and you're not even going to remember this in the morning."

The sadness in his tone was palpable, and Angela swallowed the lump in her throat, giving him a sympathetic smile.

Brennan, however, was less understanding, and she clambered her way off her partner's lap, visibly fuming at his perceived rejection. "Oh, spare me the clichés, Booth!" She spat out, teetering precariously as she leapt to her feet, looming over her partner and regarding him with ire emanating from every fibre of her being. "Why do you always insist on playing the martyr? Why do you always have to be so fucking noble?" She laid a provocative hand on Booth's inner thigh, raising her eyebrows suggestively. "We're both consenting adults, Booth. You should just take me home and fuck me, because I know that's really what you want, right?"

"Brennan – "

"Shut up Angela," Brennan commanded, barely registering her friend's wounded expression. "If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."

Booth regarded his partner angrily. "Bones, what the hell is wrong with you? You know damn well that I have no interest in _taking you home and fucking you_, because I happen to think you're worth a hell of a lot more than that."

"Awww, isn't he sweet?" Brennan's eyes were mocking, and Angela regarded her friend with an expression of utter shock when she leant forwards, boldly cupping Booth's visible erection through the thick fabric of his trousers. "It's just a pity that there's such compelling evidence to the contrary."

"Stop it." Booth's cheeks were flaming with humiliation, and he angrily pushed his partner away, seizing Brennan's wrist in a vice like grip when she promptly returned her hand to its original position and began to stroke him insistently. "I said, stop it," he hissed through gritted teeth, and Angela grabbed Brennan's elbow, hauling her away from her quarry.

"Leave the poor man alone, Bren. You've done enough damage for one night."

"I don't know why he's getting so defensive, it's not like he's got anything to be ashamed of," Brennan muttered, sinking into a nearby chair and regarding Booth's shamed-faced expression with amusement. "You seem to be very well endowed, Booth."

"Yeah, well Booth's made it abundantly clear that he isn't interested in satisfying your biological urges tonight, and I think it's about time that you got the message, OK Sweetie?" Angela was desperately trying to salvage the situation, but she only had to glance in Booth's direction to realise that they weren't going to be making any progress tonight. She smiled at him apologetically - her vow to protect him had clearly fallen by the wayside, and Angela felt her heart constrict with empathy when Booth evaded her sympathetic gaze. "I think I'm going to call Hodgins to come and get you instead, but if you even _think_ about molesting him, I won't have any qualms about leaving you here to choke on your own vomit."

She was hoping that her joke would elicit a smile from Booth, but his shell-shocked expression didn't change. He must have heard her though, because he promptly stood to leave, discreetly adjusting his pants and staring at the floor with an interest that could only be feigned.

Brennan staggered to her feet within a matter of seconds. "And there he goes again, being the bigger man," she crowed, not remotely intimidated when Booth whirled around to face her, his eyes shining with a torrid mixture of hurt and contempt.

"Go home and sleep it off Bones, because I've heard enough already."

"Booth, don't walk away from me when you know you're only going to come crawling back for more. You're like one of those pesky little lapdogs, desperate to be by their owner's side, but always struggling to keep up." Brennan was quite impressed with her drunken analogy, but Angela and Booth were far from amused. Her friend had crossed the room to stand by Booth's side, and was forming a protective barrier between them.

Brennan frowned at her. "Angela, don't look at me like that. Everyone's always accusing me of being too literal, so I thought I'd try being figurative for a change."

"Brennan, what you're _being_ is a complete and utter bitch, and I am never letting you within two feet of a bar again." Angela knew her friend could be tactless, but she had never seen Brennan be so uncharacteristically cruel, and it galled her to realise that the intoxicated anthropologist actively seemed to be enjoying this.

"Angela, I'm just being honest, for God's sake. I smacked him the face and he still forgave me, I think he can handle the truth." She turned to face her partner, oblivious to his pained expression. "I can see through all of your bullshit, Booth. The pathetic love letter, the never-ending concern, the way you turn up with a long list of platitudes when I've had a really bad day - it's all just a ploy to mask your real intentions."

"And what are they, Bones? Go on, enlighten me." Booth's tone was fierce and his eyes were blazing, and if Brennan hadn't been so pitifully wasted, she would have recognised that she was stepping towards dangerous territory.

Angela pushed Booth towards the door, shaking her head vehemently. "She's trashed, Booth. She doesn't even know what she's saying; so don't encourage her, for God's sake. It's not worth it."

Booth seemed to be considering the merits of this argument, but Brennan hadn't finished her drunken rambling yet and she was determined to say her piece prior to Booth's departure. She seized her partner's arm, eyeing him intently. "You want me, Booth, don't deny it. The guy hugs are just an excuse to get closer to me; the sympathy and the jokes are all just your way of charming me into bed. What you really want is to bury your dick deep down inside of me, so why don't you let me save you the trouble of pretending to care and – "

"OK Brennan, that's it. You need to shut the hell up. Right now." Angela glared at her friend with newfound animosity, her brow furrowing in concern as she studied Booth's expression, which seemed to be torn between anger and agony.

"Oh come on, Angela, he talks about 'making love' as though it's some kind of art form. Two people can't become one, that's the corniest piece of crap I've ever heard."

"Well you didn't seem to be having any trouble grasping the concept ten minutes ago, Brennan." Angela's angry words were the equivalent of a slap to the face. Brennan finally seemed to acknowledge the gravity of the situation, but it was too late, because Booth had already stormed out of the door.

"Sweetie, you know that I love you, but right now, I could just… arrrgh," Angela mimicked a strangling motion, before leaving Brennan to come to terms with her stupidity and hastily running after Booth.

"Save your breath, Angela. You don't have to apologise for her." Booth continued towards his car, refusing to stop when the artist's hand gently reached out to grasp his forearm.

"Booth, please, just look at me for a second."

"No." Booth's voice was strangled, and Angela immediately knew why. She seized his shoulders, forcing him to face her and, even in the murky light of the parking lot, she could see that his eyes were glistening.

"She's just drunk, Booth. You know she doesn't mean it, right? If anything, this is my fault. I should have known better than to call you out here in the first place."

"It doesn't matter whether she meant it or not, Ange, because I can't take this anymore. God knows I've tried…" Booth's voice broke beneath the weight of his despondency, and he shook his head despairingly. "She's right, you know? She keeps dishing it out and I'm the stupid sucker who keeps on taking it. But I've had enough." He took a deep breath, running his hands through his rumpled hair. "I'm through with her."

Angela shook her head violently. "No, come on, Booth. She needs you. I know she's got a funny way of showing it at times, but you're part of the reason she picked up that bottle in the first place. She missed you so much, she didn't know how to cope." Booth didn't appear to be heeding her words, and Angela was getting desperate. "I know it's difficult to handle her when she's being like this, but don't forget what she's been through, Booth. She's lashing out because she can't deal with the pain, but if you leave her now, it's going to destroy her."

Booth's penetrating eyes fixed on Angela's anguished expression, and she could see the torment residing in their watery depths. "Well, then I guess we'll be even, because she seems pretty intent on destroying me, too." He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "I don't want to argue with you Ange. You're not going to change my mind. I'm not the one who should be feeling guilty here."

"Booth, she's going to wake up in the morning with one hell of a headache, and she's going to be completely clueless about what she did to drive you away. What the hell do you expect me to say to her?"

"Just tell her…" A lone tear began to trickle down Booth's cheek, and he wiped it away angrily. "Tell her it's over. I'm past caring, Ange."

"Booth, that's bullshit." Angela's tone softened, and she regarded him attentively. "You love her."

"Yeah, well I don't know why I waste my time, because she clearly doesn't give a flying fuck about me. I can't believe that a few days ago we were curled up on the couch together and she… she…" Emotion was close to overwhelming him, and Booth shook his head, abruptly turning away again.

Angela couldn't bring herself to fight with him anymore, not when his heart was breaking right in front of her. As much as she wanted to protect the interests of her obstinate best friend, the FBI Agent had wheedled his way into her affections, too, and seeing him like this was killing her.

"Booth, just… come here." She opened her arms, and a small smile started to play across Booth's haggard features.

"No, it's OK," he reassured her wryly. "I'll be fine, Ange, really. Just go back in there and make sure she hasn't collapsed or something."

"I'm going to hug you, Booth, whether you like it or not." Angela advanced towards him, and they eyed each other awkwardly for a moment before she wrapped her arms around him. He sank uneasily into her embrace, and she held him for a few moments before whispering, "You know that expression, 'a picture says a thousand words?'"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, she loves you, Booth. She cried her eyes out when she left your apartment, did you know that?"

Booth looked surprised. "Well, it's not like I was the one who wanted her to go."

"I know. But I stayed with her that evening and it was painfully obvious that she wanted to be with _you_, Booth, not me. It was written all over her miserable face, so please don't judge her by her actions tonight."

"Look, Angela, the alcohol is a poor excuse." Booth pulled away, growing tired of the artist's attempts to make him reconsider his decision. "It's not the first time she's done this, and it's not going to be the last. I can't keep letting her use me as a punching bag, because it hurts too damn much. Can't you understand that?"

Slowly, Angela began to nod. "Yeah, I guess I can," she conceded, even though her eyes were already beginning to cloud with sorrow. "But something tells me that Brennan isn't going to find it quite so easy..."


	20. Chapter 20

**_Wow. Well, I can't quite believe that I wrote this instalment in two days, given that it's nearly 8,000 words long and covers the entire spectrum of human emotion, but I had to keep going until an opportunity for fluff arose - otherwise I know you would never have forgiven me! _**

**_This chapter is truly gut-wrenching in places - it made me cry, and I'm supposed to be the objective one LOL. However, I've incorporated some humour wherever possible and I think you're really going to like the ending. All in all, it's pretty powerful stuff, and hopefully it will be gripping enough to keep you engaged. Just remember that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger... _**

**_And this one really was a monumental effort, so please send some feedback in my direction. I'm an emotional wreck right now! LOL._**

* * *

"Rise and shine, Sweetie!" Angela hollered the imperative directly into her friend's ear, smiling slightly when Brennan visibly flinched. She strode loudly across the pine floor of Hodgin's oversized and ostentatious guest bedroom, already dressed for work. There were six such rooms throughout the main house, although really, 'house' couldn't begin to adequately describe the sprawling estate that Hodgins called home. The guest rooms were carbon copies of each other - elaborately decorated indicators of an opulent lifestyle that her partner had no interest in living, and they were seldom used… except on those occasions where Jack vowed to ravish her in every room of the house. They had only managed the feat once, and neither of them had been able to walk straight for days. It was definitely a task to be undertaken over the course of a lifetime, rather than in one exhausting weekend. Still, there was one benefit to living in such splendour – the rooms had really big windows, and Angela knew that the morning sunshine was going to illuminate Brennan's pallid face in a spectacular fashion. She drew back the hideously archaic curtains with gusto, and grinned when her friend started to groan in protest.

"What the hell?" Temperance took a few moments to get her bearings, and the mental acuity required to assess exactly how and why she had ended up in a four-poster bed wearing a nightshirt that barely covered her lower extremities seemed to provoke a skull-splitting migraine. "Ow. Oh God, Angela, close the curtains, it's too bright."

"I bet your head's really throbbing, right?" Angela smiled sympathetically, proffering her friend a glass of water and a packet of Ibuprofen.

Temperance nodded and gratefully reached for her salvation, but she was stunned when Angela promptly snatched the painkillers out of her reach.

"Good," the artist muttered angrily, before turning on her heel and slamming the door shut behind her.

Temperance winced, genuinely bewildered. Evidently she had consumed far too much alcohol last night, and she could only presume that Angela had returned to the Jeffersonian to check up on her and discovered her in some kind of stupor. Had she inadvertently said or done something to upset her friend? Or was Angela just mad because she had made the questionable decision to seek solace in a bottle of scotch, rather than confiding in her? She closed her eyes, desperately trying to remember the events of last night, but aside from a few cringe-worthy recollections of singing at the top of her lungs, she ultimately drew a blank.

"Look Ange, whatever I did, I'm sorry, OK?" Her voice was hoarse, and even though it pained her to do so, she knew she had to increase the volume to ensure that her friend heard the apology. "I SAID I'M SORRY!"

Angela poked her head around the door, holding a steaming plate of pancakes doused in chocolate sauce. "Yeah, I heard. Listen, I thought you might like some breakfast, because you clearly didn't bother to eat the lasagne I brought for you last night." She waved the offering in front of her friend's face, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "Smell good, don't they?"

Brennan turned a ghastly shade of green. The sickly sweet aroma was assaulting her senses, and she suddenly felt unbearably nauseous. "Is that the bathroom?" She choked out, clambering to her feet and pointing a shaking finger towards the solid oak door in the far corner of the room.

Angela nodded, and Brennan virtually sprinted towards it. The artist had vowed to make Brennan pay for her actions last night, but as she listened to the sound of her friend violently retching, her anger instantly dissipated. She placed the plate of pancakes on the bedside table and entered the bathroom, smoothing Brennan's matted hair away from her face and gently rubbing her back. When Brennan had finished puking, she collapsed against the side of the bathtub, and Angela couldn't help but be concerned by how gaunt she looked. The artist rooted in the bathroom cabinet, emerging with a brand new toothbrush and some fresh mint toothpaste, and set it on the side of the sink. Brennan heaved herself to her feet and gratefully began brushing her teeth, grunting with relief when Angela conceded defeat and pressed the packet of Ibuprofen into her free hand.

"Thank you," Temperance eventually ground out, after dry-swallowing two of the pills and drying her parched mouth with a hand towel. She smiled wryly at her friend. "Did you just purposely make me vomit, Ange? I do feel marginally better, but something tells me that wasn't exactly your intention?"

Angela didn't deny the accusation; she just led her friend back towards the bedroom and gestured for her to sit down on the imposing bed. "You'll be pleased to know that you don't have to go to work today. I've already cleared it with Cam. I, however, don't have that luxury, despite the fact that I only got about three hours sleep last night…"

"Look, Ange, I'm sorry that you felt compelled to drag yourself out of bed and drive all the way to the Jeffersonian to check up on me, but I can't be held accountable for your concern." Brennan flopped back onto the bed, pulling the sheets over her head in an effort to block out the sunlight. "If you want me to feel guilty, you're going to have to come back when the pain's subsided, because right now there isn't room for anything else."

Angela began mercilessly wrestling the bed sheets away from Brennan, laughing at the outraged expression on her friend's face. "I wish sleep deprivation was the only issue here, Sweetie, but I got you up early for a reason. You've got a lot of grovelling to do today."

Brennan rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Angela, I don't even remember what I did wrong, so if you want me to apologise, you're at least going to have to tell me what for."

Angela sighed. She had been praying to some unknown entity that she wasn't going to be forced to do this, but apparently the Gods weren't smiling down on her this morning. "So you don't remember anything at all – the singing, the kissing, the yelling? None of it?"

Brennan's eyes widened in surprise. "You kissed me and I yelled at you?" Angela was regarding her with an expression of dubious amusement, so clearly her initial assumption must have been erroneous. "OK, so I… kissed you? But why would you yell at me for kissing you? I was drunk! It's not like I was renouncing my heterosexual tendencies." Angela looked vaguely offended, and Brennan hastened to add, "I mean, obviously you're a very attractive woman and if I was that way inclined, of course I would..."

Angela shook her head, laughing in spite of herself. "Well, that's good to know, Bren, but it was Booth who you were playing tonsil tennis with, not me." Angela watched her friend's jaw drop open in shock, and could see the wheels beginning to turn as Brennan frantically attempted to remember the encounter. "You know, I expected you to be hazy on the details, but _that_ bit, I really thought you'd remember. I mean, how could you forget? You were in your element, Sweetie."

"But…" Brennan shook her head, desperately trying to fathom how the unlikely scenario unfolded. "Why was Booth even there?"

Angela looked sheepish. "Because I called him. I was sick to death of watching you moping around, and I knew he would come running if I told him how wasted you were. I just wanted to get you in the same room together so I could watch your tearful reunion. You know I'm a hopeless romantic, Sweetie."

"Well, you had no right, Ange." Brennan was seething, her mind reeling with a plethora of mortifying possibilities. She hated the thought that Booth had seen her when she was completely out of control, but more than that, she was crippled by the realisation that she may never be able to remember their first 'real' kiss.

"Brennan, you're not the one who gets to be angry here, OK? You haven't heard the rest of the story yet." Angela's hands were starting to shake, and she began nervously fingering the bedspread.

Brennan folded her arms obstinately. "OK, fine. Tell me why I have to apologise to my partner because _you_ dragged him out of bed to tend to me when I was completely incapable of acting in a rational manner?"

"BECAUSE I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE GOING TO EVOLVE INTO A FUCKING MONSTER, OK?"

Angela rarely swore, and her biting comment carried added weight because Brennan knew how sensitive her friend was trying to be in the wake of her attack. The artist had never yelled at her like that before, and her vehemence left Brennan with the sinking feeling that she must have done something truly awful to warrant such an extreme reaction.

"What did I do?" Angela didn't answer her right away, and Brennan seized her shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Ange, please, I need to know - in explicit detail - _what did I do_?"

"You destroyed him." It was the simplest way of conveying a variety of emotions – Brennan hadn't just taunted Booth, she hadn't merely annoyed him, or upset him, or even hurt him. She had _annihilated_ him, broken him beyond repair. Brennan looked both crestfallen and confused by this revelation, and Angela knew she needed to elaborate; to make her clueless friend understand the ramifications of her ill-conceived actions. "Booth must have broken about ten different speed limits to get here as quickly as he did," she began, her angry eyes gradually beginning to soften. "He was so concerned about you, Bren. And you were adorable… at first. You wrestled the phone away from me so you could tell him how much you missed him, and how much you hated fighting with him. You were singing, and laughing, and when he finally got here… well, you quite literally jumped him."

"What, and that made him mad?" Brennan laughed in disbelief, letting out a derisive snort. "It's not my fault he's averse to public displays of affection."

"No Bren, I think that was the bit he actually _liked_." Angela sighed, piling a mouthful of pancake onto her fork and chewing slowly in a bid to buy some time. "You kissed him, and even though it shocked the hell out of him at first, he actually kissed you back – which shocked the hell out of _me_, because I wasn't expecting him to be quite so… um… passionate." Brennan sallow cheeks had taken on a rosy tinge, and Angela couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, Sweetie, I was watching pretty closely and trust me, it was hot. In fact, he didn't get the deer-in-headlights look until you made it known just how much you were enjoying yourself…"

Brennan shrugged ruefully. "I don't know what that means."

Angela rolled her eyes, clearing her throat. "Well, you know, you started being a little… vocal… and you were trying to force your tongue down his throat, and Booth obviously figured that the alcohol had screwed with your inhibitions and decided that he didn't want to take advantage of you."

"Well, that was very considerate of him," Brennan conceded, wondering why Angela suddenly chose to emit a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob.

"Oh my God, why couldn't you have said that last night?"

Brennan looked perplexed. "Why, what did I say?"

Angela sighed, putting her head in her hands. "Look, Sweetie, there's no easy way to tell you this, so I'm just going to sock it to you, OK?"

Brennan nodded, inwardly bracing herself.

"I think we've established that Booth was just trying to do the right thing by stopping things before they got out of hand, but you took it completely the wrong way. You told him to stop pretending to be 'so fucking noble' and then you demanded that he – and I'm quoting here, not paraphrasing - _take you home and fuck you_, because that's really what he's been hankering after all this time. Which he obviously took great offence to, because Booth's not about using and abusing his women, right?" Angela looked at Brennan for some kind of affirmation, and the anthropologist obligingly shook her head. "OK. But you see, when he told you that he had no interest in treating you like a two-bit whore – those are my words, incidentally, not his - you kind of… went to extreme lengths to prove your point."

Brennan was looking increasingly concerned, but confusion was still taking precedence. "You're going to have to be more specific, Ange. What do you mean, 'extreme lengths?'"

Angela snorted, but decided to overlook the opportunity to create limitless puns, knowing that Brennan was unlikely to be a receptive audience. "Well, Booth was a little flustered after you'd been writhing around on top of him…" She noticed her friend's wide-eyed expression, and quickly elaborated. "Oh - I forgot to tell you that you were sitting on his lap whilst you were kissing him. Anyway, his enjoyment kind of manifested itself… physically… "

"You mean he got an erection?"

"Yes, Sweetie, that's exactly what I mean, and - even though it's not remotely relevant - I still feel compelled to tell you that it was _very_ impressive. In fact, you thought so too, at the time, which might explain why you felt the need to grab his crotch and inform him that he wouldn't be sporting such a prominent boner if he didn't want to take you home and fuck you. You were basically trying to make him look like a horny hypocrite."

Brennan's hand flew to her mouth, and she looked horrified. "Angela, please tell me that you're making this all up because you're worried about me becoming too dependent on alcohol?" When Angela shook her head regretfully, Brennan started wringing her hands. "Oh God. He must have been mortified."

"Embarrassment does not even begin to cover it, Brennan. He couldn't look me in the eye afterwards."

Brennan was silent for a moment, and then her guilty azure eyes regarded Angela imploringly. "But he knows I was drunk. He'll get over it, right?"

Angela swallowed audibly. "No, he's not going to get over it, Bren. Because it gets even worse."

Brennan's eyes were starting to well with tears. "I humiliated a man who has never had anything but respect for me. What can be worse that that?"

Angela had been brutally honest thus far, but now she found herself wondering whether she should cut corners to preserve her friend's feelings. Still, Brennan hadn't extended that courtesy to Booth, and if the anthropologist wanted to make things right, she needed to know precisely what she had done wrong. "Brennan, you said some awful, unforgivable things, OK? You told Booth that he's always a few steps behind you - that he'll never be able to keep up."

"But that's not true!" Brennan exclaimed. "Booth and I are equals, we're on a level playing field. He knows that. Even Sweets said how much we complement each other."

"That may be so, but I think he must have a few lingering insecurities, because he looked like you'd slapped him in the face when you said it." Angela sighed. "Bren, you compared him to a dog that keeps trotting back to its master, regardless of how hard you kick it in the teeth. The letter he wrote to you whilst you were in the hospital, you told him it was one big, pathetic cliché." Angela was somewhat taken aback when Brennan chose that particular moment to spontaneously burst into tears, and she edged closer to her friend, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Look, I know you didn't mean it, Bren, but Booth… well, he took it hard. And to be honest, I can't blame the poor guy. If Hodgins told me that everything I'd ever done for him - everything I'd ever said - was all just a ploy to get him into bed, I'd be pretty hurt, too. To tell someone who clearly thinks the world of you that they don't really love you, that they're only pretending to care… it's a low blow, Brennan. You told Booth that his ultimate aim has always been to fuck your brains out, and then…" Angela cringed, "Then you offered to save him the trouble of pretending otherwise."

Brennan regarded her friend with a look of wounded incomprehension. "Why the hell didn't you stop me Ange? How could you just stand back and let me speak to him like that, especially when you know how much I – " She hesitated, her tears flowing in earnest now, and Angela gripped her by the shoulders.

"Say it," she commanded with compassion, "Just say it, Brennan."

"I care about him," Brennan whispered, although that wasn't the word she had initially intended to use. That word was too strong, it carried too many implications, and right now, she didn't even know if she and her partner had a future together.

Angela shook her head in exasperation. "Sweetie, I didn't just stand there, you know me better than that. I tried so hard to make you shut up, and I tried ever harder to get Booth to leave before you did any more damage, but there was nothing I could do. You were a woman on a mission, and because I couldn't reason with you, I tried to talk some sense into Booth instead. I followed him out, and when I caught up with him, he was _crying_, Bren."

"What did he say?" Brennan whispered, her lip trembling at this new revelation.

"I…" Angela wiped away a few tears of her own, and shook her head. "He said he was through with being used as a human punch bag and that…" She hesitated and, in doing so, realised that she just couldn't bring herself to repeat those irrevocable words. _It's over_. Instead, she gave her friend a reassuring smile. "Look, Sweetie, he said a lot of things, but he was upset, and I know he didn't mean it. Just go and see him, Brennan, and for God's sake, tell him how you feel. Because if you don't, you're going to lose him forever, and judging from the look on your face these past few days, if that happens, your life isn't going to be worth living anymore." For once, Brennan was a rapt audience, probably because her disconsolate sobs were impeding her ability to form a coherent sentence. Angela decided to seize the opportunity and took her friend's hand, squeezing it gently. "You need to tell him _everything_, Brennan. All those things that you can't even bring yourself to say to me. You need to tell him what happened to you, how much it fucked you up, and how sorry you are for taking it out on him. But more than anything, you have to tell him that you _need_ him to get through this. Because you do, Brennan. You really do."

"I know," Brennan whispered, her voice cracking. Despite the painkillers, her headache had intensified, and now she found herself floundering, wondering how she could ever begin to rectify her mistakes. After the incident in the bathroom at Booth's apartment, she had come to the shocking realisation that hurting him was akin to hurting herself, because knowing she had caused him that much pain was equally as agonising. She had vowed then never to do that to him again, and yet here she was barely one week later, in exactly the same predicament. Only this time it was worse, so much worse, because she couldn't even rely on her own judgement anymore. She had crushed him, and she couldn't even remember doing it. She was intelligent enough to read between the lines – she knew Angela was hiding something, and she knew it pertained to what Booth had said about the status of their relationship in the aftermath of her inexcusable actions. Angela had expressly stated that she risked losing Booth forever and, even though her friend was fond of melodrama, Temperance knew that she wouldn't have said something so insensitive unless it was a viable possibility.

"Can I borrow your cell phone?" She asked suddenly, determinedly wiping away her tears. Angela nodded, and promptly left the room to find it.

Five minutes later, Temperance was dialling Cullen's extension, and she took some time to clear her throat when it unexpectedly rang through to voicemail. "Deputy-Director Cullen, it's Dr. Brennan. I've taken some time to consider the conditions you imposed and I've decided to undertake the counselling - providing, of course, that I can resume my position in the very near future. You stipulated that I have to attend a minimum of ten sessions, so I would appreciate it if you could arrange the appointments on a bi-weekly basis. If, however, the counsellor would be willing to see me at more regular intervals, I could probably manage up to four sessions a week, although I realise that her schedule may not allow for that. Basically, I want to return to work as soon as possible, so I would appreciate it if you could give this matter your immediate attention. I'll look forward to hearing from you shortly. And Cullen…" Temperance's voice had been unfailingly business-like up until now, but suddenly she found herself faltering. She bit her lip, willing back a fresh onslaught of tears. "Please make sure that when I do come back, I'm still partnered with Booth."

* * *

Booth's new partner was quite the package. He hadn't exactly welcomed her with open arms, but as the morning progressed, he found himself relaxing in her company. She was pleasant enough to overlook his gruff demeanour – in fact she'd cracked a joke about understanding why he wouldn't want to get too attached given that she was only a temporary replacement - and she knew better than to try and engage him in conversation when he clearly wasn't in the mood for small talk. She was svelte, with short but stylish blonde hair, and from an objective point of view, pretty damn attractive. It wasn't her fault she had been drafted in to replace someone who was ultimately irreplaceable.

They had spent the morning interviewing a suspect, and when he revealed his plan of attack, she had discussed the finer points with him in a reasonable manner and, satisfied that he knew what he was doing, nodded enthusiastically. When faced with the guy in question, she hadn't deviated from his strategy – she'd just made it seem so much shrewder than it actually was, and he had been left marvelling at her ability to manipulate people. She asked intelligent questions without making them seem incriminating, and she was polite and engaging enough for the idiot to instinctively open up to her. When she knew he was putty in her hands, she went in for the kill, and the poor bastard didn't know what hit him. After they had secured their first arrest of the morning, largely thanks to her initiative, she made sure the team knew he deserved a large proportion of the credit. Then she had climbed into the passenger seat of his SUV, no questions asked, and had spent the trip back to Headquarters diligently filling in some paperwork. She wasn't remotely intrusive – she didn't even ask why he was ignoring the persistent ringing of his cell phone. She hadn't objected when he turned on the radio, nor had she commented on how irritating she found his humming. As far as she was concerned, his driving didn't warrant any criticism, either. She sniggered at his sarcastic commentary, and she understood his jokes. In fact, most of the time she could expand on them, and eventually he found himself snapping out of his funk and laughing with her. He'd forgotten what it was like to have an uncomplicated rapport with someone.

Booth didn't want to sit alone in his office during his lunch break, it would have given him too much time to think, so he found himself inviting Madison to join him at the diner. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to sit at his usual table, so they ended up studying the menus in the corner booth. She ordered steak and pie. So did he. They talked about soccer and hockey, he briefly mentioned Parker, and although he caught her examining him a little too intuitively at times, as if she instinctively knew that something was wrong, she considerately chose not to mention Temperance Brennan.

Neither of them was expecting the woman herself to make an appearance.

Temperance had spent all morning trying to locate her partner, and the diner was her last resort. Having been greeted by an empty apartment, and then an empty office, she was so surprised to actually find Booth that for a moment, she forgot how to breathe. She froze in the doorway, taking in his dishevelled appearance, and only snapped back to reality when some disgruntled patrons jostled their way past her. She took a deep breath, striding purposely over to Booth's table, and acted as though she was completely oblivious to Madison's presence.

"Booth, why aren't you answering your phone? I need to talk to you." Her plea was delivered in such a desperate tone that several diners looked up from their food, and Madison averted her gaze, respectfully staring out of the window.

Booth tried not to notice how frail his partner looked – yesterday her conservative attire had obscured her slender physique and the alcohol had given her a rosy hue that made her look deceptively healthy. Now she was wearing Angela's far more revealing clothes, and they hung off her skinny frame. Her legs and arms were like twigs, and he could see the prominent outline of her ribcage through her T-shirt. She looked like she had dropped at least 10 pounds in the last five days alone, and it really didn't suit her. Her high cheekbones were sunken, and her melancholy eyes were hollow and bloodshot. Booth knew that his partner took pride in being well presented, but the maintenance work was usually superfluous to requirements because she was undoubtedly a natural beauty. Even without a scrap of makeup, Temperance Brennan was effortlessly radiant, but this morning, there had been an eclipse. He barely recognised this ashen faced, lank-haired woman who looked so gaunt it was a wonder she was still standing upright. He made a conscious effort to remind himself that he didn't want to be the one to catch her. Not anymore.

"I'm working," he eventually muttered, suddenly finding it hard to swallow his food.

Temperance looked taken aback by his nonchalance. "No, you're not. You're on your lunch break."

"Yeah, well it looks like my lunch break's over," he countered abruptly, shooting a pleading look in Madison's direction. "Are you ready?"

Madison spared her half-eaten steak a wistful glance before leaping to her feet, sensing the urgency behind his request. "Um… yeah, sure."

"I didn't mean to ruin your meal," Temperance whispered, gazing guiltily at their stacked plates. "I can wait until you've finished."

"I'm not really hungry anymore." Booth deposited enough money to cover the bill onto the formica tabletop and then attempted to brush past his partner, but she laid a trembling hand on his forearm.

"Booth, please. I need to tell you how sorry I am."

Booth shook his head derisively and, noticing how uncomfortable Madison looked lingering awkwardly in the background, he rested his hand on the small of her back, ushering her forwards. "Maddie, this is the infamous Dr Brennan. I'm sure her reputation precedes her. Dr Brennan, this is my partner, Madison Downey."

Brennan's face drained of colour, and she reeled backwards as though she had been physically stung. Madison watched her eyes fill with tears, and elbowed Booth sharply in the stomach, willing him to do something. When he didn't respond, she stepped forwards, taking Brennan's hand in her own and shaking it far more gently than she was accustomed to.

"He's right, you know. I've heard a lot about you, and it's a pleasure to be finally meeting you," Madison enthused with genuine sincerity. "You probably hear this all the time, but I've read all of your books and to think that you're capable of doing even half the things you mention in the narratives – well, at the risk of sounding like I've got a case of adolescent hero worship, I'm in awe. You're an inspiration, you really are."

Brennan smiled tremulously at the unexpected acclaim, and returned the tentative handshake with uncharacteristic grace. "Thank you."

Booth rolled his eyes, and leaned conspiratorially towards his new partner. "Madison, you really shouldn't be feeding her ego. Trust me, she's more than aware of how brilliant she is, and mere mortals like us aren't really worthy of her attention."

"You know, I think I'm just going to go and wait for you in the car," Madison informed him, her tone making it abundantly clear that she thought he was being a first rate asshole. She laid her hand on Brennan's shoulder. "It really is nice to meet you, Dr Brennan. I know I'm never going to be capable of filling your shoes, but I'll do my best to keep Agent Booth on the straight and narrow until you get back."

Booth looped a companionable arm around Madison's shoulders. "Well, I think you're doing a pretty good job so far. Maybe you should stick around."

Madison saw the agonised expression on Brennan's face, and shrugged her way out of Booth's gentle grasp. "And maybe you should stop using me as a pawn in your petty little mind games," she hissed, and Booth was taken aback when she strolled out of the diner, leaving him alone with his devastated-looking partner.

"Booth, I know why you're doing this, but you've never given up on me, and I'm not giving up on you." Brennan gazed at him intently, hoping to find a flicker of warmth amidst his unyielding features, but Booth wouldn't even look her in the eye.

"Learn to take a hint, Dr Brennan," he eventually spat out, before pushing her aside and striding towards the exit without looking back. Brennan was left standing alone in the corner of the room, the object of several people's intense scrutiny, and she flinched away from their pitying gazes, wrapping her arms around herself. Why did everything have to be so hard?

* * *

Booth's TV was blaring, and Temperance knew he was barricaded inside his locked apartment, deliberately ignoring her persistent knocking. She had to see him, which is why she found herself crawling around on all fours, desperately trying to locate his spare key. She looked under the welcome mat, and then fumbled above the doorframe, both to no avail. Finally, peering beneath an oddly positioned rock, she struck gold. Her hands were shaking with apprehension as she tentatively inched open the door, and she slipped inside as quietly as she was able to, shutting it soundlessly behind her. She closed her eyes briefly, bracing herself for what was to come, but she was abruptly forced to open them again when she heard the unmistakable sound of her partner stalking towards her.

"You've got some fucking nerve, you know that?" Booth wrenched the key out of his partner's grasp, pointing furiously towards the door. "Get out."

"No." Temperance stood her ground, even though the extent of Booth's anger was inwardly terrifying her. She had seen him intimidate the most hardened of criminals into compliance, but that feral rage had never been directed at her before. "I need to talk to you, Booth. Please," she pleaded, reaching out to touch him in a futile attempt at forging a bond between them. He stepped away from her as though he had been burned.

"I don't want to hear it, OK?" he ground out. "I don't know what the hell Angela told you, but clearly the message isn't hitting home. I am _through with you_, Brennan."

"Well, I don't accept that. I can't." Temperance didn't fail to notice that her partner was deliberately avoiding the use of her nickname and, at that moment, she realised what she had secretly always suspected – Booth didn't call her 'Bones' to annoy the hell out of her, it was actually a term of endearment and, apparently, that was something she was no longer worthy of. She felt as though her insides were being wrenched apart, but she wasn't giving up that easily. She edged further into the apartment, collapsing onto Booth's couch because suddenly, her legs seemed incapable of supporting her. "I called Cullen this morning," she informed him quietly. "I've agreed to see a counsellor. I know I'm not coping with this properly, and I know I have no right to take it out on you… But Booth, I was drunk." She looked at him imploringly. "I wasn't in control of what I was doing, let alone what I was saying. Can't you understand that?"

Booth laughed contemptuously. "Go and play bleeding hearts with someone else, Brennan, because I'm not listening to your crappy excuses. And if you think for one minute that trotting off to see a shrink with your tail between your legs is going to change my mind, forget about it." He leant over her frail form until she could feel the ire emanating from him, and his breath came in angry pants against her pallid cheeks. "Don't you get it? The damage has already been done. Cullen might be happy to take you back under his wing, but I know for a damned fact that I'm going to be flying solo from now on." He misread her expression, and rolled his eyes. "What's the matter? Let me guess, you don't know what that means? Well let me spell it out for you. I don't want to _see_ you anymore. Not as friends, not as colleagues, not as partners. Got it?"

It would have been so easy to give up the fight, to accept that her irrational actions were unjustifiable and that she deserved to suffer the consequences, but even though she was finding it increasingly hard not to dissolve into tears, Brennan knew that her partner was lashing out because he was in pain - and if he was in pain, then he must still feel something for her, even if it was buried too deep for him to access. She shook her head to convey her lack of comprehension. "So I make one stupid mistake and that's it, we're done? You're just going to throw our partnership away because I drank too much one night?"

Booth's tempestuous eyes narrowed still further. "You didn't seem too concerned about our partnership when I was the one who was trying to save it," he reminded her, folding his arms across his chest.

"What, so you're just being mean to me out of spite?" Brennan retorted incredulously.

"No, I think we've determined that spite is _your_ forte, remember?" Booth jabbed his finger in Brennan's direction, and then smacked his forehead as though something had suddenly occurred to him. "Oh no, that's right, you CAN'T. You turn someone's life upside down; make them feel about two inches tall, and then wake up with a clear conscience. It's all just water off a duck's back to you, right?"

"No!" Brennan exclaimed, sighing. "Booth, irrespective of the context and the fact that I obviously didn't mean a word of it, what I said to you isn't something you can just forget about. I realise that, and I'm sorry." She risked trying to take her partner's hand, and her eyes welled with tears when he snatched it out of her grasp. "I'm so, so sorry. I just don't know what I can do, to prove to you how much I care."

"Come on, you're the scientist, surely you must know that you can't achieve the impossible?" Booth shook his head, willing back the hoarseness that was starting to work its way into his tone. "You don't give a damn about me, Brennan, and there's nothing you can say or do to convince me otherwise. If you cared, if you really cared, you wouldn't be capable of speaking to me like I was a piece of shit on your shoe. You wouldn't take a perverse kind of pleasure from making me miserable."

"I don't," Brennan whispered, wringing her hands. "Booth, when you're not around, I feel like something's missing, but when I'm with you, I feel whole again. It's like we have some kind of intangible connection, and I've never felt that way about anyone before."

If Booth was moved by her heartfelt admission, he didn't show it. "If that was true, you wouldn't go out of your way to keep me at a distance and push me away. The only thing you're capable of connecting with is a corpse." Oh God. He wished he hadn't said that, especially when he saw the stricken look on his partner's face.

Brennan sucked in a hitching breath. "Well, maybe I'll try my hand at necrophilia then, because it would be a hell of a lot easier than sitting here and enduring this." Her partner's lips twitched, ever so slightly, and Brennan made the ominous mistake of thinking she had made some progress. "Booth, a few days ago you told me that you loved me. That your feelings weren't just something you could switch on and off. In your letter…"

"Fuck the letter, Brennan." Booth's voice had raised several decibels, and he looked his partner directly in the eyes. "I don't love you; I never really cared. The last three years have all just been some elaborate ploy to get inside your pants, remember? I mean sure, I cried more last night than I did when my best buddy got blown up by a landmine, but it was all just part of the act, right? I mean, who knows, I might even land an Oscar!" He imitated the booming voice of a TV broadcaster. "And tonight's award for the best leading actor goes to Special Agent Seeley Booth, for pretending to fall in love with the most infuriating woman in the world, just for the sake of one measly one night stand."

"Booth – " Brennan could see that her partner was on the verge of tears, and she was so consumed with hating herself that it took a moment for her to register that he was advancing towards her with a predatory glint in his eye. For one terrifying moment, she thought he was going to hit her, but instead, he seized her legs and effortlessly hoisted her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat, reminding herself that this was her partner, not Billy Marks, but it didn't stop her stomach from flipping with apprehension.

"What are you doing?" She whispered hoarsely, struggling slightly when her partner tightened his grip.

Knowing it was going to be a soft landing, Booth took Angela's advice from the previous night and dumped his partner unceremoniously onto his bed, clambering on top of Brennan and pinning her in place before she had chance to react. He was careful not to exert too much pressure on her ribcage as he straddled her, and he used one hand to gently grip both of her wrists, whilst the other fumbled with the buttons of his jeans - purely for effect. He had no intention of actually removing them. "I've waited three years, Brennan, but this is all you wanted, right? A casual fuck with no strings attached?" Booth pressed himself lightly against his partner's thigh, using his free hand to rove beneath her T-shirt, lovingly caressing her stomach, but studiously avoiding her breasts. He wasn't finding the experience remotely stimulating, and Brennan's complete lack of responsiveness proved a point – she didn't want this meaningless encounter any more than he did. He was about to release his partner and voice his relief when he felt Brennan stiffen beneath him, and Booth was taken aback when she wrenched her hands free of his temperate grip, bringing her arms up into a defensive stance as though she was desperately trying to shield herself from something.

"No," she whimpered plaintively, "Please don't."

"Oh God, no. Bones..." Booth immediately understood what his partner had inferred from his actions, and guilt overwhelmed him. Any remaining trappings of anger were instantly forgotten, and he carefully extricated himself from his partner, taking her hand with infinite tenderness. "Bones, look at me. Please, just look at me." Petrified azure eyes sought out his own, and he smoothed back his partner's hair soothingly, willing her panic to subside. "I'm not going to hurt you, baby. You know that right? I would never hurt you, Bones. Never." But whilst he had never harmed her physically, Booth knew he had damaged her emotionally, and when Brennan burst into tears, burying her head into his lap and sobbing as though her heart was going to break, he cried right along with her.

"Come here," he beseeched through his tears, and when his partner melted into his arms, he tenderly dried her face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, kissing her with all the love he possessed. To his utter relief, she kissed him back, and he smiled softly when she nuzzled her head against his shoulder, pressing her lips against his collarbone.

"Please don't leave me, Booth," Brennan whispered, tightening her grip on his forearm. "You're the only person I ever wanted to stay."

"Well, you certainly know how to weaken a man's resolve," Booth teased, his heart constricting at his partner's desperate entreaty. "I'm always going to be your best friend, Bones, and I'll always be there for you, but I can't deny that I want something more – and I don't just mean in a sexual sense, OK?" He began absent-mindedly stroking his partner's arm, gently chafing her wrist with his thumb. "I want a real relationship with you, Bones, one that's based on trust, and honesty, and commitment – one that isn't going to crack at the foundations every time we hit a rough patch. I can live without the white picket fences and the 2.4 children, but I don't want every day to be about blood, sweat and tears, either. I love your company, and I love the fact that we can have fun together, but we can't keep tearing each other apart like this – it hurts too much, right?"

Brennan nodded, staring at her hands, and Booth gave her an affectionate squeeze.

"Hey, I'm not blaming you here. We're both as bad as each other – I acted like a complete asshole today, you were an idiot last night, and we both said things we didn't mean because we couldn't deal with the pain. We're never going to agree on everything, Bones, but we're going to have to learn to discuss things without instigating World War III in the process. You mean everything to me, and that stunt I pulled before – I just wanted to make you realise that what we have is about so much more than sexual tension." Booth bowed his head shamefully. "If I'd thought for one minute that I'd scare you like that…. "

Brennan pressed a finger to her partner's lips, shaking her head. "It's OK, Booth, that wasn't your fault. Clearly I have some issues that I need to deal with…"

"No, Bones, we deal with them together. We're a team, remember?" Suddenly, Booth found himself staring nervously at the wall. "I mean… that's if you want to give this whole relationship thing a shot?"

"I do," Brennan said decisively, laughing when her partner broke into the broadest grin she had ever seen. "Booth, from this point onwards you are officially – what's the term? – 'my bitch.'"

"What is it with you and the dog analogies?" Booth grumbled, poking his partner gently in the ribs and frowning in concern when he realised just how prominent they were. "And _you_ are a bag of bones, Bones. Will you stay with me for a few days and let me fatten you up?"

"Is that a euphemism for something?"

Booth burst out laughing. "No! I meant that I want to make sure you're eating properly, because you've lost a lot of weight."

Brennan shrugged. "I haven't really had much of an appetite. I guess I must have been lovesick or something."

Booth stared at her for a moment, and she met his gaze without flinching.

"Lovesick?" He reiterated, wondering if his partner understood the implication.

"Yes Booth, lovesick." Temperance's eyes filled with tears as she contemplated the gravity of the admission she was about to make. "I love you, Booth," she whispered, sinking into her partner's embrace and wondering if he knew that she had never uttered those words to anyone else before.

It took Booth several moments to find his voice, and when he did, his tone was choked. "Then I guess… I guess I'm the luckiest guy on this planet."

"And apparently, the most sentimental one, too," Brennan added wryly, before giving her partner a heart-stopping smile. She was finally starting to remember what it felt like to be truly happy again.


	21. Chapter 21

**_You'll be pleased to hear that this chapter is a lot less harrowing to read that the previous instalments! It's still jam-packed with emotion, but it's predominantly of a fluffy variety :-) I'm not promising that it'll have the same kind of impact as Chapter 20 (thank you so much for all of your amazing reviews), but I think/hope that you'll like it nonetheless, because Brennan & Booth are moving closer - both figuratively and literally. Please let me know! _**

* * *

The alarm clock's ring was shrill and steadfast, and the cacophony was far from welcome. Booth jolted back to reality, extending his arm into the general vicinity of his bedside table and aimlessly slamming his palm down until eventually, silence prevailed. His partner stirred reluctantly into wakefulness, groaning in protest at the early morning wake up call. In fact… Brennan glanced around the bedroom, noticing that it was still swathed in darkness, and focused her bleary eyes on the clock's luminous digits. 5.40am. She reached up to flick on the bedside lamp so her partner could observe the full extent of her frown, looking inadvertently adorable as she squinted into the sudden brightness.

"Booth, I told you to set the alarm for 6.30am." Brennan knew that whining was a rather unattractive quality, but right now, she didn't really care.

Booth regarded her ruefully. "I know. But you also told me that you were going to have to hotfoot it back to your apartment to get ready for work, and I wanted to make sure that I had time to make you breakfast first."

"Making breakfast doesn't take 50 minutes, Booth," she grumbled, rolling her eyes and letting out a surprised squawk when her partner's arms lightly encircled her waist, lifting her backwards until her body was pressed flush against his own.

"And maybe I wanted to buy some snuggling time, too," he confessed, grinning sheepishly.

Temperance couldn't help but laugh, and she rolled over to regard her partner with twinkling eyes. "I'm afraid I'm not really much of a snuggler, Booth." She wasn't being facetious, either – on a working day, Temperance Brennan was not the kind of woman who lingered in bed.

Booth looked faintly amused by her admission. "Well, you'll learn, Bones. It's just like one, big, extended guy hug. And don't even try and tell me that you don't enjoy those," he teased, nestling against her and engulfing her in his warm embrace. It should have felt suffocating, but instead the word 'cosy' sprang unbidden into her subconscious. It wasn't a term that had ever infiltrated Temperance's vocabulary before, and she felt mildly disconcerted. Her stomach fluttered slightly when Booth's hand slipped below the hemline of her shirt, and she resisted the urge to shiver when he began lightly caressing the planes of her lower back. She was inwardly waiting for his hands to rove downwards, to slip beneath the waistband of the sweatpants he had given her to sleep in, but Booth's fingers continued to languidly play across the same spot, tenderly warming her bare skin.

Men didn't usually touch her in such a non-invasive manner and, on those rare occasions where she was afforded this kind of attentive affection, it was invariably in the hope of instigating sexual relations. However, when Temperance furtively glanced at her partner's expression, she was astounded to see that he looked perfectly at peace. Booth's eyes were closed and his lips had settled into a soft smile, and clearly his carnal instincts were well under control. She was used to seeking physical gratification from skin on skin contact, but whilst the sensation of being touched like this was undoubtedly pleasurable, this kind of comfortable familiarity - the fact that Booth could enjoy being close to her without demanding more - was something she had never experienced with anyone else before. It was both invigorating, and terrifying, and she found herself panicking slightly.

"So I'm just supposed to lounge in bed whilst you pet me like a cat?" she inquired wryly, and the hand that was driving her to distraction promptly stilled against her skin.

"Never mind, Bones. Clearly I need to work on my technique," Booth muttered, rolling away from her and pulling the blankets back up to his chin. "Just go back to sleep."

It didn't take long for Temperance to realise that she had inadvertently hurt her partner's feelings. Booth had created a foot of distance between them, and she felt compelled to bridge the gap by burrowing snugly against him. "Booth, I'm sorry," she murmured, directly into his ear. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I just…I guess I'm not used to this kind of intimacy. My previous lovers didn't tend to stick around for long and, for the most part, I didn't want them to. But this…" She gave him a gentle squeeze, relieved when he turned to regard her with understanding eyes. "This is different. This is nice. But I've been waking up alone for most of my life, and even when there was someone lying next to me, I never had this sense of… companionship before. It's going to take me a while to adjust." She paused, her brow furrowing. "I don't know if I'm explaining this very well, but you can understand what I'm saying, right?"

Booth nodded, gently smoothing his partner's hair away from her face. She was being open with him, and that was all that mattered. "Yeah, I can," he informed her, smiling when she settled her head against his shoulder. "It's weird for me, too, you know." Temperance glanced up at him, clearly waiting for him to elaborate, and he blushed slightly. "I've spent three years sitting on my hands, Bones, consciously trying not to get too close. Every time I saw pain in your eyes, I wanted to hold you and never let go. Every time you smiled, I wanted to squeeze your hand and tell you how beautiful you looked, and every time you and the squints had one of your genius breakthroughs, I wanted to kiss you for being so damn smart. Even when you were purposely driving me crazy, I wanted to distract you in ways that you couldn't even begin to imagine. But I was terrified, Bones," he confessed, staring at the ceiling. "I was terrified that one day, you'd notice the way I used any excuse to touch you, the way my hand lingered on your arm, or your shoulder, or your back. But what terrified me even more was that, most of the time, I couldn't help it anyway." He swallowed audibly, and shook his head in disbelief. "And now I get to wake up with you in my arms and I have to keep pinching myself to make sure that this isn't just another one of my torturous goddamn dreams. So yeah, it's going to take a while for me to adapt, too."

Bones was looking at him with an expression that was unfathomable in its intensity. "What?" he enquired anxiously, wondering whether he had said too much.

"I noticed, Booth," Brennan whispered fervently, tightening her grip on his waist. "I just didn't want you to stop."

Booth laughed, gently tracing the outline of his partner's ribs. "Well, I wish you'd told me that two and a half years ago, Bones."

"I don't," Brennan disagreed, hastening to explain when she saw the look on her partner's face. "Booth, part of the reason why I have such an appalling history when it comes to long-term relationships is because I find it very difficult to compromise my ideals. I'm a demanding lover, but once the novelty of sex wears off, I generally find that there isn't a lot left to cling onto. The longer I spend in a person's company, the less I have to say to them, and they invariably start to bore me with their superficial attempts at conversation and inane small talk. Admittedly, I don't help matters by being so reluctant to disclose personal information, but I've rarely found anyone worthy of opening up to. Most people don't understand me and are intimidated by my intelligence, and men have always been more concerned with my looks than my emotional needs. I have a very low tolerance threshold and it doesn't take me long to start noticing people's faults, and then they irritate me to the point of... " Temperance saw the look of alarm that was gradually working its way across Booth's features and she started to laugh, squeezing his hand. "Booth, relax. I was going to say that the past three years have given me plenty of time to assess our compatibility, and the results are highly favourable. I fell into my previous relationships without a lot of foresight and they were ultimately meaningless, but I _want_ to be with you Booth, because I know our connection isn't something that could easily be severed. It's something we've cultivated over the course of time, and it's powerful enough for me to want to fight for."

"So I'm not going to bore you to tears and you're not going to dump me for falling short of perfection?" Booth clarified, his puppy dog eyes brimming with hope.

"That's precisely the point, Booth. I was aware of your faults from the outset and admittedly, all I noticed at first was how infuriating and ignorant you were…"

Booth feigned a look of hurt. "I'm sorry, is this supposed to be reassuring?"

"But then," Temperance interjected, poking her partner in the ribs, "As time went on, I came to realise that not only are you a very kind and considerate man, you're also immensely talented in your field and capable of maintaining stimulating – if occasionally immature – conversation." She smiled at him softly. "You don't bore me Booth, and you never have, which is quite an impressive feat considering that we've virtually lived in each other's pockets for the last three years. Admittedly, our work always gives us something fresh to talk about, but we spend a great deal of time conversing on a personal level and I find you equally as engaging in that arena."

"Well, that's good to know," Booth informed her, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Thanks Bones."

"I haven't finished yet," Temperance informed him, lightly stroking his stomach. "You're perceptive, and understanding, and an excellent listener. You're loyal, and trustworthy, and don't try to force me to be someone I'm not - but you're not mindlessly agreeable either. You're not cowed by my intellectual ability or intimidated by my achievements, and you're prepared to fight your corner, which I respect immensely." She saw Booth raise his eyebrows incredulously, and laughed. "I do! I wouldn't have learnt so much from you, Booth, if you were prepared to just sit back and defer to my superior wisdom. I accept that you excel in fields that I have absolutely no knowledge of, and that you're very intelligent in your own right."

"You're frankly scaring me now, Bones," Booth teased her, although inwardly his heart was brimming. His partner's rare praise was doing a lot to assuage his insecurities, and after the trauma of the last few days, he needed to hear it.

"I also think that you have an excellent sense of humour, and although a lot of people have commented on my sombre demeanour, you're one of the few people who can make me laugh. And God knows, I need that sometimes." Temperance sighed, glancing at the clock. 6am. "So what I'm essentially saying is that in those three years, I've grown to like you and admire you, and ultimately…" She trailed off, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Well, you know."

Booth feigned ignorance, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

Temperance sighed. "You're going to make me say it again, aren't you? OK Booth, I have grown to… love you. Are you happy now?" She couldn't help but smile at the look of delight on her partner's face. "And, even though I'm immensely looking forward to engaging in sexual intercourse with you, if the novelty does wear off – which I'm sure it won't, because you have all the qualities of an exemplary lover; your toned physique would suggest that you have a great deal of stamina and your attentive nature would imply that you are keen to meet the needs of others… and of course I find you extremely attractive - we still have a lot to work with." Temperance wondered why her partner had suddenly chosen to bury his head beneath the bedcovers.

"Booth?" She wrestled the sheets away from him, laughing when she saw how impossibly red he'd become. "Oh come on, we're in a relationship now and we still can't talk about sex?"

"Well, you know, I'm more a man of action than words," Booth countered bravely, although his ears were still burning. "And maybe I'd appreciate it if you didn't sound the death knell for our love-making before it's even begun."

Temperance started to laugh. "Come here," she instructed, grabbing the fabric of his vest and pulling him towards her. She met his intense gaze for a moment, running her fingers over his jaw line, and then pressed her mouth gently against his own. Booth's kisses were unlike anything she had ever experienced before. He was passionate without being demanding, and tender without being too restrained. The sensation was overwhelming, and this time, when his hands delicately worked their way beneath her T-shirt, she pressed closer to him, running her fingers over the sensitive flesh on the back of his neck and delighting in his subsequent groan. Booth was stroking her bare stomach in a way that made her transverse abdominals clench in approval and, when his hands returned to tease the skin on her lower back, she too, couldn't withhold a moan of appreciation, silently marvelling at his infinite dexterity.

Booth was trying exceptionally hard to control himself, but it wasn't an easy feat given that he had never attained quite this level of bliss before. God, Temperance Brennan was one hell of a kisser. Her lips were impossibly soft and malleable, but she didn't have any trouble conveying her underlying hunger. The awkwardness that he usually felt at the beginning of a new relationship was conspicuously absent – he didn't have to alter his technique to merge with hers, and there was no bumping of noses or clashing of teeth – they just came together effortlessly, as though their union had been preordained. His breath hitched slightly when Bones suddenly decided to part his lips with her tongue, and he allowed her access, humming his approval when she simultaneously thrust one of her legs between his own, arching into him with a satisfied smile. Their tongues had been flicking together lightly, but Brennan's sense of urgency was increasing exponentially, and she plunged her tongue into her partner's mouth, tightening her grip on his neck in the process. Booth met her stroke for stroke, fighting a losing battle with his mounting desire, but he froze when he felt Brennan flinch, almost imperceptibly. She quickly relaxed again, and immediately tried to re-establish their rhythm, but Booth placed his hands gently on her shoulders, slowly pulling away.

Brennan regarded him with anguished eyes, knowing he had perceived her involuntary reaction, and knowing he was far too chivalrous to overlook it. "Booth, I'm so sorry, it was just… instinctive, I guess." She ran her hands over his well-defined torso, feeling compelled to offer some kind of explanation. "When I… when he…" she trailed off, sighing in frustration. "You really don't have to stop, you know? I'm fine."

Booth shook his head, his eyes clouding with empathy when Brennan wrapped her arms around herself, lost in thought. Glancing ruefully at his swollen groin, he used a pillow to obscure his evident arousal before gently taking his partner's hand and pulling her smoothly into his lap.

"I'm sorry," Temperance whispered again, looking uncharacteristically ashamed, and Booth shook his head, tenderly cradling her against him.

"Bones, that was the most amazing, mind blowing kiss I've ever had," he admitted, giving his partner an affectionate squeeze. "Trust me, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for."

Brennan was slightly mollified by her partner's generous words, but she was still unable to meet his penetrating gaze. "I don't want you to feel like you have to ask for permission to touch me, Booth." She gazed at her hands. "And I don't want you to think that this experience has made me… frigid… in some way. Because it really hasn't." She attempted a half-hearted smile. "I was enjoying that just as much as you were."

"I know," Booth reassured her, linking his fingers gently through her own. "But I also know that something I did made you think about that sick bastard and how much he hurt you, and I don't want to dredge up bad memories for you, Bones - even for a second. Seeing you like that yesterday…" Booth trailed off, fighting to keep his emotions under control, "Well, let's just say it's not an experience I ever want to repeat, and if I _ever _do something that makes you feel uncomfortable, you have to tell me, OK?

"But you didn't do anything wrong, Booth," Brennan protested, regarding him earnestly. "I _wanted_ you to kiss me like that." She smirked. "In fact, I wanted you to do a hell of a lot more than just kiss me…."

Booth blushed. "Bones! You saying stuff like that, is not helping with… stuff like this…" He gestured towards his lower extremities, and Brennan started to laugh.

The melodic sound was music to Booth's ears, and he cupped his partner's chin in his hand, regarding her with a soft smile. "But seriously, Bones, I've waited three years and I can wait a while longer. If you need some time to deal with this, you should take it."

"And watch you die of sexual frustration in the process?" Brennan countered, folding her arms. "Booth, words cannot begin to convey how infuriated I'll be if you start treating me like some kind of glass doll," she warned him, sighing with frustration. "The truth is, I don't know what's going to provoke the flashbacks and when they're going to occur. I had a brief recollection of Billy Marks grasping my jaw and forcing his tongue into my mouth, that's all. It wasn't pleasant, and at the time it was horrifying, but I will not allow my life to be governed by a completely illogical fear." She caressed her partner's face, regarding him affectionately. "I trust you, Booth. I know you're not going to hurt me, and you are by far the most considerate man I've ever known. I have no reason to fear you, and when I react in such a senseless manner, it's no reflection on your technique whatsoever. It's just a brief moment of irrational behaviour that you need to learn to overlook. And, given time, hopefully it'll subside."

"Bones, it's not irrational behaviour, OK?" Booth informed her, desperately trying to swallow his exasperation. "Any human being who has been through what you have is bound to experience some major psychological ramifications. And I know you hate psychology, Bones, but what that bastard did to you has got to have left some pretty deep emotional scars, and the flashbacks are just your brain's way of telling you that you need to acknowledge that fact. And I don't think they're going to subside until you do."

Brennan's slender form was becoming rigid with tension. "So what am I supposed to do, Booth? Just relinquish my grip on normality and succumb to the pain?"

Booth tightened his grip on her waist. "If that's what it takes for you to overcome it, then yes, Bones." He made a conscious effort to control his own emotions, knowing his partner's would always take precedence. "I know what happened out there, I got the cold, hard facts from Cullen and you were pretty blunt about dishing them out yourself." He felt her flinch away from him, and he pulled her closer, trying to prevent her anticipated retreat. "But you need to tell me how you _felt_, Bones. What you were thinking, how you were feeling…"

"How the hell do you think I felt Booth? I was terrified, OK? I thought I was going to die." Temperance regarded him with anguished eyes, but then she seemed to retreat into herself, held captive by the irrepressible brutality of her memories. "I couldn't breathe… he kept throwing me to the floor without giving me enough time to replenish my oxygen supply… I kept trying to get up and run, but my airways felt like they were constricting and my legs weren't functioning properly because the chloroform had attacked my central nervous system… my vision was hazy and I didn't know where to go because everything looked the same. I fought back, Booth, I fought so hard… but he was just… he was too strong. He pinned me down and his knee was pressing against my thoracic diaphragm… he was so heavy… I couldn't inhale properly and even though I was already gasping for air, it didn't deter him from sticking his tongue down my throat. There was nothing I could do. It's the first time in my life that I've ever felt completely powerless. His hands were like shovels… I couldn't turn my head away from him because he was crushing my jaw… licking my face… biting my lips… forcing my mouth open with his filthy fingers… I started to gag, because the smell of him… the taste of him… it was so unspeakably vile… I felt like I was suffocating, Booth. I couldn't breathe. And then he started rubbing himself against me and I realised how much my helplessness was exciting him and I felt… I felt… "

Booth's heart leapt into his throat when Bones faltered, visibly hyperventilating. He hadn't wanted to interrupt his partner's horrific account of her ordeal, knowing that any kind of reaction on his behalf could feasibly stun her into silence, but now he wasn't sure he knew what to say. However, when Bones pushed her way out of his embrace, attempting to flee the implications of her impromptu revelations, he leapt to his feet, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders.

"Bones?" Temperance was staring steadfastly at the floor, and he wrapped his arms around her rigid physique, pulling her close. "You don't need to go anywhere, OK, because I've got you."

His words seemed to act as some kind of catalyst, and when Brennan burst into tears for the second time in as many days, clutching him tightly and crying convulsively against his shoulder, Booth tried to convey through the power of touch alone just how much he cared about her.

"You were wrong," she stated decisively when her heaving sobs had finally abated.

Booth's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "About what?"

"Rehashing the experience didn't accomplish anything. Telling you all that didn't make me feel any better, Booth." Her expression evolved into one of self-loathing. "It just made me look like some kind of weak, tainted victim."

"You're kidding, right?" Booth shook his head in disbelief. "Bones, we all feel overwhelmed at times. It's OK to cry, you know? Everyone does it. Even hard-assed alpha males like me are not beyond blubbing like a baby every now and again." He gave her a wry smile. "One day I'll take you to Happy Hour and you can see for yourself. Everyone needs a shoulder to cry on sometimes and everyone gets scared, Bones. It doesn't matter if you want to curl up in my lap and bawl your eyes out every night for the next six months, you will _still_ be one of the strongest and bravest people I know. I've learnt a lot over these last three years, too," he informed her, smiling softly. "So, Temperance, tell me why a woman who believes that society shapes our behaviour has such a problem with acting like everybody else every now and again?"

Brennan flushed, unable to form an adequate response. "I just don't want you to treat me any differently than you usually do," she eventually confessed, and Booth grinned mischievously.

"Well, technically speaking, I don't _usually_ kiss you, so I guess I should just quell that urge right now…"

A smile was slowly starting to work its way across Temperance's features. "You're a pain in the ass, Booth."

"But you love me anyway, right?" Booth's ever-expanding grin was promptly cut short when Temperance wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into another searing kiss. His instinct was to err on the side of caution, and he met her lips tentatively to start with, whimpering in protest when his partner pulled away, giving him a warning look.

"Booth, if you hold back I'm going to kick your sorry ass," Temperance informed him with deadly seriousness, watching her partner's eyes widen in surprise.

"Um… does that mean you want to, um…"

Temperance laughed at his misapprehension. "Not unless you want our first sexual encounter to be over in ten minutes? I'm working to a time frame here, Booth. It's 7.15 already, so just kiss me, for God' s sake."

Ten minutes later, Booth was stepping into a very cold shower, but even that wasn't enough to eradicate the huge grin that was fixed to his face – quite possibly on a permanent basis.

Temperance had been informed that she wasn't allowed to leave her partner's apartment until he had made her breakfast, and she sporadically glanced at the clock, drumming her fingers with mounting impatience as she waited for him to emerge from the bathroom.

'_If paradise is half as nice as the Heaven that you take me to, then who needs paradise, I'd rather have you… OH YES I'D RATHER HAVE YOU… la la la la…la la la la….'_

Temperance burst out laughing, her agitation instantly forgotten. Her partner's singing wasn't especially tuneful, but the sentiment and conviction was certainly there. She inched towards the bathroom door, snorting when Booth launched into another rousing rendition of the Amen Corner classic, and she could barely contain her laughter for long enough to holler through the crack in the door:

"You know Booth, I think that constitutes blasphemy!"

There was silence for a moment, and then she heard her partner emit something that sounded suspiciously like a guffaw. She started to chuckle again, her eyes shining with a tenderness that her partner wasn't able to see.

"I love you, Seeley Booth," she whispered, and even as she swallowed the lump in her throat, her smile didn't falter.


End file.
